Sanguinary
by cypris88
Summary: A dangerous secret irreversibly changes Lisa's life, and she is thrown headfirst into a world of politics, money and murder.
1. Chapter 1

AN/ Updated a polished and improved version of the story on Nov. 22nd. No major plot changes, just filling in some of the holes and cleaning up loose ends. Hope you enjoy!

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Somewhere in Florida, the long peal of a phone reverberated around a richly furnished room several times before a bored voice bothered to answer. The importance of the call was made clear in a few succinct words and the uninterested tone instantly vanished, replaced by a barrage of precisely articulated questions.

The man had clearly dealt with these kinds of calls before; even seemed to expect them on a regular basis. He handled a substantial amount of sensitive information that, more often than not, simply required delicate tweaking to plans conceived and set in motion long ago.

This call fell into the latter category, meaning a dangerous knot had developed somewhere in the game and it was his job to straighten it back out. Careful fine-tuning was out of the question – the operation would have to be gutted and restructured from its very foundation in a matter of hours.

"Five-thirty then. We will be in touch." The man pushed a button to quit the connection and reset the security encryption, then cradled his head in his palms. He sat completely still for five solid minutes before moving a finger to invoke a speed dial. The line picked up in a matter of seconds.

The man summarized his new plan to the dedicated young manager on the receiving end, and then went over his specific role in greater detail. "Jackson," he warned before hanging up, "we need to act fast."

"Christ. I'm on it."

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The silver Beamer was parked opposite her dad's house, just as Jackson had promised it would be only hours ago on the plane. Lisa edged her foot forward on the accelerator and the stolen SUV crawled past the rear of the car. Her eyes were locked on its driver's side window, her entire body clenched tightly with stress. The SUV slid forward agonizingly slow, until the front seat was in view.

No one was inside. That meant—oh God…

She whipped her head around to check out the front door, only to find an ancient tree blocked the exact angle she needed. She heavily exhaled stale air and her car crept forward several more feet, slowly revealing the lawn. She impatiently strained forward in her seat, but at the same time dreaded what she saw.

A spooky man dressed in a gray suit stood in the front lawn. He regarded her and came to a grim conclusion as he reached inside his jacket. Before Lisa had time to reconsider she threw the accelerator flat against the floor and blew her tires over the curb directly toward him. The assassin reacted far too quickly – seconds later two bullets had shattered her windshield and his careful aim wouldn't miss with the third. The front wheels struck the stone lining of the sidewalk and the entire car leapt forward, carrying the man and his unfired bullet straight through the thick front door in a spectacular spray of wood and glass. Lisa scrambled out of the stolen vehicle just as the engine died from the direct impact.

"DAD!" She vaulted over the bloody corpse and rapidly toured the entire first floor of the house. His favorite chair in the living room was vacant and the fabric cold. The TV was muted on an infomercial. "Dad! Dad – where are you!?" Lisa screamed repeatedly. She dodged around the island in the empty kitchen as a thick knot of fear began to tighten in her stomach. She had been too late – the assassin had already broken into the house and coldly murdered her father, his body now lay upstairs in a huge pool of thickening blood – NO! She shook her head to clear the disastrous thoughts from taking root. No, her father was alive and completely unaware that anything was wrong—

"What the hell!?" her dad yelled from the foyer. So much for unaware.

"Dad! Are you alright?" she shrieked in relief, running through the kitchen doorway toward his voice. He stood at the base of the stairs, one hand braced against the banister and the other gesturing helplessly at the space where the front door had recently hung. Her heels skidded on pieces of glass as she ran to envelope her father in a choking hug.

"Lisa, what on earth—" he began in a bewildered tone. He lovingly returned her hug and switched the focus of his gestures towards the body lying on his floor.

"I can explain–that man is an assassin–you're okay–I thought you'd been killed!" Lisa confessed in a rushed sob.

"Assassin?" His eyes widened in alarm, heavy eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion. "Lisa, what—"

She drew out of his embrace and headed for the telephone in the den. "Dad," she began more calmly, "I need to call the hotel. Stay here; don't go anywhere." She lifted the receiver and began to dial.

Her father shook his head a few times and tried once more to demand an explanation from her. The line was ringing and she simply held up a finger. "Please, just hold on," she requested in a managerial tone that was too professional to argue with. He exhaled in frustration and muttered something about getting a first aid kit and towels as he left the room.

"Lux Atlantic Resort," Cynthia answered faintly. The receptionist's voice was tiny and nearly overwhelmed by yelling in the background.

"Cynthia, are you okay?" Lisa demanded.

"Yeah.."

"Is everyone else okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, we're all ok, I think." She paused to confirm a question asked by a distinctly pissed off official voice on the other end. "Look, you better get over here. I have no idea how I'm gonna explain this to Keefe's guys."

"Okay, don't worry, I'm on my way." She quickly replaced the receiver. "Dad, I need your keys!" She hurried out into the foyer and found herself looking right at Jackson, who stood casually by the front door. Lisa couldn't contain her gasp of surprise and stopped short.

"Hi," he breathed heavily, a smug grin gracing the corners of his mouth. His disheveled hair and hoarse breathing did nothing to make him seem any less frightening. He pressed two fingers to his throat, the pen wound now cleverly concealed by a dark red scarf. His other hand held the dead assassins' gun.

"Dad!" she yelled in warning, trying to alert him to this new threat. She spotted a putty knife on the hall table but Jackson swiped it away from her onto the floor. He moved closer, eyes narrowed, gun ready, and in a flash of panic Lisa realized that the public safety of the plane and the airport terminal was now far away. "Dad!" she yelled again, hating the weak tremor in her voice.

Jackson looked toward the hallway at the sound of her father's approaching footsteps. She glanced at the gun, and back to Jackson, who had a strangely expectant look on his face…

"Lisa, what's going on now…" her father began for the last time as he entered the front hall. He stopped short at the imposing sight of Jackson, and Lisa felt completely helpless when she saw the stunned look on his face. She was an idiot – why had she expected her dad to know how to handle a wheezing, gun-wielding maniac fuming in the middle of his entry foyer?

"Dad, this, uh—"

But apparently Joe was fed up with the entire situation, and he bellowed in the most enraged tone she had ever heard him use in her life. "JACKSON, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

Lisa instantly choked on her breath of air. "Wait—dad—what!?" she yelped in utter astonishment. He ignored her. His seething glare was directed at Jackson, who merely shrugged in the closest exhibition of embarrassment Lisa imagined he could ever display. His fingers were still pressed firmly against the scarf, although they were tensely playing with the crimson fabric.

"Why the hell are you here? What's wrong with your throat?" Joe demanded. His arms were crossed and he suddenly seemed as much a stranger to her as Jackson was.

Jackson slowly tipped his head towards Lisa. "I don't think your daughter likes me too much," he wheezed, "not to mention our line of work."

"What the hell happened to my part of the deal?" Joe exclaimed in sheer frustration. He tossed his hands chaotically through the air, like some sort of bizarre juggler who had just lost control of his act. "I was never supposed to be involved like this!"

Lisa dropped her jaw in disbelief. "Dad.. what..?" She trailed off weakly. The pieces had already been put together but she couldn't accept the reality they implied. There was no conceivable way…

Jackson snickered and glanced in her direction. His chilling blue eyes held her own as he uttered words that changed her life forever.

"C'mon, Leese. Can't you figure this out? Your dad used to be my boss."

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	2. Chapter 2

She couldn't speak – hell, she could barely breathe. Her eyes flicked from Jackson to Joe, who made absolutely no attempt to deny Jackson's claim. God dammit dad, she thought desperately, can't you at least _try_ to contradict him? Shrug it off and say oh honey, it was just once, and no one died, I only needed the cash to pay off the divorce lawyer.

And suddenly a lot of things started snapping into place. The extensive house renovation that seemed to be funded by a bottomless bank account – all paid for by a hefty retirement bonus? And her parents' unexpected divorce only three years ago – had her mother known the whole time and finally had enough of this covert lifestyle?

"Dad.." she whispered again. Tendrils of anger and betrayal spiraled up from the knotted pit of her stomach.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," he responded slowly. His angry outburst had given way to glum misery. "I'll… explain, as much as I can, eventually. Jackson, this man," he said more briskly. "Who is he?"

All at once, it struck Lisa that if Joe and Jackson were once indeed colleagues, why on earth had Jackson threatened her on the plane with promises of her dad's death death, to the point of her emotional breakdown? The answer supplied itself just as quickly – her father had never been in any kind of actual danger, at least as far as Jackson knew. Damn them both.

"I can't believe that a hitman was outside your house. Who does he work for?" Jackson paused to cough slightly and catch his breath.

Joe approached the corpse and rolled the man onto his back, then methodically checked a series of pockets until he extracted a thin black wallet from inside the gray suit. He flipped it open and Jackson cursed when it confirmed their suspicions. Lisa leaned around Jackson and saw the flash of a shiny badge before Joe threw the wallet on the side table. "CIA."

"The CIA?" she gasped. "They know about you?"

He confirmed her guess with a curt nod. "They have for awhile," he confessed. "But they were never able to pin me with anything specific enough to warrant an arrest. I'm amazed that I retired when I did without landing a single stint in jail along the way."

Lisa felt like she had just been severely beaten in the stomach. "Was.. was he going to hurt you?"

Joe shrugged carelessly. He examined the prone figure on the floor, which concealed secrets from them even in death. "I guess we'll never know." But then he saw the sick look on Lisa's face and realized exactly what she had been asking. "It is not your fault, Lisa," he said, compassionate but stern. "It's just an unfortunate coincidence and no normal person would have expected you to act differently."

Joe's dark eyes held a tense weight that Lisa had never noticed before. But government agents _aren't _normal Dad, she thought miserably. And neither are you. I killed a man to save… who? A crook? My father? She bit her lip to quell the sudden stinging in her nose, and blinked rapidly as tears leaked into her exhausted eyes.

"We need to clear out now, Joe," Jackson urged. He impatiently shifted his weight and drummed his fingers along the gun handle. "This sorry bastard was only the lookout. They'll be swarming in less than twenty minutes now that the operation has gone to shit." Joe eyed the younger man's scarf-wrapped throat before turning his sharp gaze towards Lisa.

"What exactly happened on the plane?"

Jackson coughed again, but this time it didn't sound quite as authentic. "In the car. Tell you then."

Joe nodded, but when Jackson turned to check outside he flashed his daughter a proud grin that Lisa barely managed to fake in return. He approached her slowly and gave her another tight hug.

"His death does complicate the situation, sweetie, but it'll be taken care of as soon as we talk to the right people. Until then, Jackson is right and we have to leave." He started to lead the way to the garage but stopped short and turned towards the stairs instead. "Keys are upstairs, hold on."

He ascended quickly and inadvertently left behind the most stressful, awkward circumstance that Lisa had ever experienced. It hadn't quite sunk in that Jackson was no longer a complete threat to her, or that her father, one of the most honorable men she had known her entire life, was his ex–boss. How the hell was she ever supposed to come to terms with a revelation like that? Her recently tracheotomied kidnapper glanced away from his place by the door and held his hand out towards her.

"My phone," he requested succinctly. For some reason Lisa felt embarrassed – like she hadn't stolen it to save innocent lives, but had instead swiped it to make a quick profit on Ebay. She clumsily fished it out of her pocket and set it in his palm without touching his skin.

"The battery is dead." Lisa wanted to apologize, for the phone, the pen, all of it, but bit down on her tongue when she realized that Jackson was calmly analyzing her reaction in a way that severely pissed her off. Hadn't he had enough of stalking her for two solid months? "I called the hotel. Everyone is safe," she continued, just to spite him.

Anger rippled across his face but vanished into a charmingly fake smile. "As I expected. You're too practical for your own good." He returned the phone to the pocket of his dark pants and readjusted his jacket as Joe made his way downstairs. "But there's always next time." It wasn't an empty threat.

Her father looked panicked. "It's on the news. We're out of here, _now_." The trio passed through the kitchen and out into the garage, where Joe's luxury BMW sparkled in the dim lighting. Lisa sadly realized it was another perk of the business. She moved to claim the passenger seat. Jackson gave her a commanding look that she completely ignored and he grumpily climbed into the back.

Within minutes Joe had already covered substantial distance from the house by way of a scenic back route out of the neighborhood. He glanced back at Jackson a few times, obviously impatient to hear about the plane ride, but Jackson stubbornly ignored him and looked out the window. It could have been slightly comical had the state of affairs been vastly less sober.

"So, dad… seriously?" Her initial shock about her father's occupation had given way to a sort of incredulous disgust

"Since I was 24, Leese. I've told you stories about my first job out of college, with that boss I hated always breathing down my neck. Well, I did quit that job but I never told you the real reason why. Turns out he was actually a recruiter for the Company. He set me up with an interview which—"

"Don't try to normalize it!" Lisa snapped, irked by his casual tone. "You work for a company that supports, what, government overthrows and flashy high profile assassinations?" She heard a surprised wheeze from behind her.

"It's easy to make it sound horrible you phrase it like that, Leese," Joe frowned. He pulled onto the highway and wove through the early morning traffic. He was headed north, in the direction of Lisa's apartment. She assumed she'd be dropped off before her dad and Jackson continued onwards. She had a stinging headache but it wouldn't be too hard to fight off the police when they showed up to question her. Her lawyer could just deal with everything.

"To some people, violence is all they see," her father began slowly. Lisa could tell the speech was partially rehearsed by the way his thumb rhythmically tapped the steering wheel. "But be open minded, Lisa. When someone is determined to be a crook, they'll act outside of the law. If that means being a serial killer and taking out a store full of people, they'll do it. But if they're smarter, needless bloodshed from innocent bystanders is rarely their goal. That's just terrorism, bullying civilians into making change for you. Taking out the right people, and fewer of them, generates change far more efficiently without leaving behind a senseless mess."

"You're encouraging violence to innocent people either way! Just because you confine the damage to a few of them doesn't make murder any more glamorous."

"I'm not calling it glamorous, Leese. We're not the good guys. Quite frankly I don't think a majority of the Company's employees _want_ to be the good guys. But we do support change, which is far from a bad thing. And since it never happens peacefully overnight, it needs a powerful spark, and we are that spark, Lisa—"

"You're just sabotaging one person's dreams to make way for another's! How can you say change is good when you see the way Hitler changed Germany? What about the pope's assassination in Europe that started World War One? Do you want to start the next world war, dad? Does your company want to initiate _that_ sort of change?"

"Only idiots go after religious figures. Our targets are politicians and businessmen—"

"Except for the occasional slew of family members," she spat bitterly.

"We purposely set the cost for that sort of thing so ridiculously high it deters people from including them in the contract. But unfortunately, now and then, anything can be bought for the right price."

Lisa gave Joe a glare of such loathing he stumbled to correct himself.

"Look, sweetie. I'm trying to say that no one at the Company was happy about it. But we didn't have much of a choice. It was the Russians who had final say since they're the ones who opened the contract. They demanded that Keefe's family be dragged into it."

"Oh, so now it's the Russians who are the bloodthirsty criminals."

"I already admitted we're not the good guys," he retorted, losing patience with her. He glared at Jackson in the rearview mirror. "Why aren't _you_ dealing with this?"

"Because my throat hurts," Jackson muttered.

Joe raged on. "I was never supposed to be involved in this job and now I'm stuck cleaning up the mess with my daughter when I'm not even associated with you guys anymore!"

"You're still throwing the blame around, _dad_."

He didn't reply, exasperated from her accusations. "We'll talk about it _later_, Lisa."

"What's there to discuss!?" Lisa exploded. "You're not going to change my mind! For over twenty years your job was to spread misery and death, all in the name of change. What was broken that badly? What were you so desperate to fix?"

"Enough Lisa!" Joe bellowed at the same time Jackson hissed, "Quiet Leese!" from the backseat.

She crossed her arms and sunk down into the seat. She was momentarily daunted by their outbursts, until she noticed the exit ramp for her apartment sail past. "Why aren't you taking me to my apartment?" she demanded anew. "Where are we going?"

Joe's sad gaze met hers and his clammy fingers squeezed her hand. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, sweetie. For your own protection."

Her stomach sank and she wrenched her hand from his grasp. "I wouldn't need your protection if you took me home!"

"The CIA would descend in a half hour and haul you off without question."

"Fine with me," she snapped.

He looked at her sharply. "Sorry, but I'm not willing to write you off so fast."

"Besides," Lisa continued as if Joe hadn't spoken. "I completely botched the Company's assignment. All of their work, wasted. I'm probably the very last person in the world that should be showing up on their doorstep right now."

Joe gave her an uncomfortable look and didn't seem to know what to say.

"You'll find out when you get there," Jackson cut in humorlessly from the backseat.

Lisa looked at him in the sideview mirror. "Whatever," she huffed.

The possibility of returning to her normal life anytime soon drifted further away with every passing mile. She realized with a heartrending jolt that she was deeply discouraged by Joe's inability to take care of her. He was her best friend despite being habitually overbearing, and she'd expected that annoying trait to finally work in her favor when he became her champion against the evil that had once again infiltrated her life. But he and his loyalties had apparently jumped ship years ago, and now she found herself alone on the losing team. Screw allies, she could handle whatever the assassins threw her way. She furiously drilled herself through imaginary lines of dialogue she would exchange with the crime bosses once they met.

Joe stayed quiet the rest of the car ride, and somewhere along I-95 Lisa fell into a deep, tormented sleep.

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	3. Chapter 3

There was a far off ringing in her ears. It wasn't like the melodic chiming of church bells, but rather a steady hum that seemed to vibrate in the air around her. It's just the plane engine, she told herself, and wrapped her body deeper into the safety of her dark blue blanket.

Wait. Blanket? Lisa bolted upright and hastily untangled her limbs from the fabric. The plane was long gone – her father's car just a vague memory – and she was alone in a small room. She didn't remember falling asleep, and usually slept so lightly there was no way someone could have moved her without waking her up. She rubbed her temples with two tense fingers and the ringing dulled to a steady roar. Pieces of the last twenty-four hours began to filter into her thoughts. Her father, a crime lord. Even worse, Jackson's old boss. She suspected that one of the men had drugged her sometime during the drive, which pissed her off to no end.

The ceiling light was off, but a small lamp sitting on a desk was turned on and set low. From its meager glow, she saw two dark wood doors, no windows. The queen sized bed she had been sleeping on was pushed into a corner. A wardrobe was in the opposite corner, the desk beside it. Three walls were painted a light, creamy color; the fourth was cerulean blue. Although the room was not richly furnished, it was clean and calm.

Lisa cautiously swung her legs off of the mattress and placed her bare feet on the soft, light brown carpet. She was still clothed but her shoes were nowhere to be seen. She suspected Jackson had something to do with that. She poked her head inside the wardrobe. The only contents were a dark suit and a pair of worn out dress shoes. A sleek, dark laptop sat on the desk. Lisa lightly drew her fingers across the cover and flipped it open, but the blue log-in screen required a password so she ignored it.

She approached one of the wood doors and held her ear to it, relatively sure no one was outside. The ringing had grown softer but still lingered in her ears, similar to the buzz she got after a few too many Seabreeze's. She turned the handle painfully slow and pushed the door open just a crack. The space beyond was dark and silent. Lisa opened the door wider and hesitantly stepped inside. A dark figure moved into sight ahead of her and she gasped in surprise and covered her mouth. For a few blind moments she wondered why the person didn't approach her. Her hands groped for a lightswitch and she flicked it on. A bashful smile crept onto her face when she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The bathroom was relatively spacious but unadorned. The walls were painted the same blue from the bedroom and complemented by a cream countertop. At first glance the only thing out of place was a man's razor on the counter. Then she noticed a shirt sleeve hanging out from under the lid of the laundry hamper. A chill raced down her spine. The fabric was a familiar pale green.

She choked in fear and stumbled out of the bathroom, heading to the opposite door which led to escape. She stretched her hand out, desperate to leave the claustrophobic space, when a key was suddenly inserted in the lock and the door swung open from the outside. Jackson's body filled the door frame, lean but intimidating. She stopped short and stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Neither spoke for long seconds, until Jackson laughed quietly.

"Remember what happened the last time I caught you leaving a room?" His voice was low and rough. Lisa's heart beat faster. The confined space of the airplane bathroom, made almost intimate by their violent proximity, his hot breath sweeping along her skin and the helpless terror she had felt – all of it, every last word he had said, was burned into her memory forever. It made her angry and nauseous.

"Where are we? What happened to Joe?" she demanded.

Jackson stepped inside the room and Lisa backed away from him until she hit the edge of the desk. "You are somewhere relatively safe. Your father is busy," he answered. A thick bandage obscured the hole in his throat. She wondered what kind of drugs he was on if he was still able to walk around and speak somewhat normally.

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Jackson. You may have knocked me out because you didn't think I could handle _walking inside_, but since I prevented my hotel from exploding, saved dozens of lives _and_ shoved a pen down your throat earlier today, we both know that I can handle myself."

Jackson glared at her and flexed a muscle in his jaw, irritated beyond belief. He had done her a favor by protecting her from the whole truth, yet she apparently still wanted to bitch about something. "I wasn't the one that ordered you knocked out, Leese," he stated succinctly despite his raspy voice. "We arrived here yesterday. You've been sleeping since then. I've been busy explaining to my boss how you managed to make such a fucking mess out of our entire operation. Your father is trying to come up with reasons why you shouldn't be killed, although I'm sure he hasn't thought of anything even remotely convincing." Jackson slowly stepped towards her as he continued to speak. "I brought you to this room for your safety. Most of my fellow assassins in the building are not at all happy about months of planning being wasted by some pretentious little girl, and if you _really_ want to know the whole story, some have already taken bets on who can manage to get by me and kill you first."

Lisa's wide eyes betrayed her distress, but her composure indicated his news was nothing less than expected. She had a sudden flashback – a dizzy memory of Jackson carrying her through sterile hallways, shielding her limp body against the wall, pulling his gun on an associate who was hell bent on murdering her, men yelling, everyone furious… She glanced around the windowless space and quietly asked, "Is this your room?"

Jackson exhaled in annoyance. "It's where I stay." He reached around her to shut the laptop. He secretly admired the way her shoulders tightened in response to his presence. "Let's go. And don't ever touch my computer again."

She glared at his back as he flicked off the light in the bathroom. "I don't have any shoes," she said stubbornly.

"You won't need them. We have nice carpeting." He crossed the room and opened the door that led to the hallway.

"What about your bloodthirsty colleagues?" she persisted.

"You're with me," he growled impatiently. "No one is going to fuck with you." Despite the vague memory that she'd been in mortal danger before in the hallway, his words stirred up the same instinctive emotion she had felt when he'd first defended her in line at the airport. Lisa slowly followed him out into the hallway and waited as he locked the door. He led them through a maze of quiet corridors. Jackson swiped his hand in front of a sensor and a pair of double glass doors opened into a wider hallway, made to accommodate more traffic but devoid of people. True to his word, carpeting covered the floor wall to wall.

"You weren't lying," Lisa commented as she gestured downwards.

"Yeah. I like it. Muffles sound pretty well," he replied. A look of vague disgust crossed her face but she said nothing. Jackson stopped outside a heavy wood door halfway down the hallway. She saw it was barely ajar, open just enough to carry cold air and angry voices into the corridor.

"—don't understand how she could have possibly interfered as much as she did, Joe," a slightly accented voice said. "If it was anyone else but you I would have ordered her killed the instant she arrived. You never implied that she would be as difficult to control and—"

Lisa put her ear closer to the door, but when Jackson tried to do the same he moved far too close for her comfort. She elbowed him away but he grabbed her arm and twisted it tightly against her back. "Stop it, Leese," he hissed when she continued to push him away. "Listen."

"—ullshit, Jim." She heard her father's thick voice through a haze of discomfort and fury. "I was adament from the beginning about never involving her. She's determined and stubborn just like her mother. Letting someone like Jackson handle her was the worst thing you could have allowed."

"Jackson is one of the best in this business. He's gotten results before that no one dared hope for. Initially I didn't even want to waste him on this assignment. Imagine where we'd be if Zhou had gone in his place!"

"Jackson gets results in impractical situations because he's brash and cocky," Joe yelled. "His style easily intimidates most people. I've worked with him from the beginning and would be the first to praise his talent, but I was strict about his physical involvement for a good reason. Zhou would have been able to keep her subdued and get the results we wanted without being so damn _theatrical_ about the whole thing. And you know—"

At that instant Jackson pushed the heavy door open and entered the room, dragging her behind. Both men looked up. The anger on their faces diminished rapidly, replaced by blank masks as they eyed Lisa. A black executive table filled the middle of the room, surrounded by a neat ring of chairs. A row of track lights mounted on the ceiling cast harsh shadows across the wood-paneled walls.

"Both of you, leave," the unknown man said coldly after a moment.

Joe immediately shot to his feet and slammed his hands on the table. "She's my daughter! You have absolutely no authority to tell me what to do when it comes to her!"

"And you have no authority in this company whatsoever," the man sneered with a side-long look at Joe, "save that extended out of respect and courtesy. Leave or I'll throw you out."

Her father stayed still for several long seconds. Lisa could practically see thoughts spinning through his head, but he finally turned and wordlessly stomped out of the room. Lisa tried to reach out and touch his arm as he passed, but Jackson pulled her away, deeper into the room. She expected Jackson to leave but couldn't decide whether she wanted him here since he was familiar, or as far away from her as possible because he was insane.

"Sir, I'm requesting permission to remain," Jackson said briskly in a tone that indicated he didn't expect to be denied.

"Fine," the man replied carelessly.

Lisa suddenly realized she was completely alone with two dangerous men. She stood absolutely still as Jackson left her side and leaned comfortably against the long table. The other man approached her and gave her a thorough, measuring look. He was younger than her father, probably in his mid-forties. His mature face was handsome – he even had creases around his mouth from smiling often – but his eyes were cold and instinctive, particularly out of place with the rest of his demeanor. She was certain this was Jackson's current boss, not just from the clout he had exhibited with her father, but from the undeniable fact that lethal power surrounded this man almost as strongly as it did Jackson.

"Miss Reisert." His light accent twisted delicately around her name. He circled behind her, taking leisurely, deliberate steps. "It is quite an honor to finally meet you in person," he said from over her left shoulder. A shiver escaped down her spine despite her effort to hide it. "Joe has had you hidden away for so long. When this coincidental situation presented itself I hardly hoped he would concede to it."

Lisa flicked her eyes to Jackson, aching for him to intervene and get this interview over with as quickly as possible, but he stared back and just shrugged slightly. It wasn't like she had anywhere to go. The man entered her vision again and watched her calmly. She carefully watched a spot on the wall just over his left shoulder and tried to keep her breathing as steady as possible, even though she was terrified. She searched for the furious dialogue she'd practiced in the car, but whatever she'd been drugged with had scattered her memory.

"I have been rude, my dear," he said abruptly. "My name is Mr. Affague, or Jim if you prefer to associate on more casual terms, though I wouldn't recommend it. I am Mr. Rippner's boss and was your esteemed father's associate, until he retired of course. Jackson has already told me most of what occurred on your flight together, but I would appreciate hearing your version of events."

Affague's formal charade sickened her and anger quickly dominated her fear. Lisa felt dangerous words rising from her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. "You're revolting. You destroy families and countries without a second thought, all for a paycheck drenched in blood. I would never help a disgusting wretch like you!"

Affague had the grace to look slightly amused as he moved directly in front of her. "Would you like to say that again, Miss Reisert?" he challenged in a humorless tone.

Lisa's face colored at her sudden brashness. She started to lower her eyes to the floor in submission, but Affague's face loomed far too close to her own and she was too pissed off to back down. Instinct kicked in without a second thought. Her arm tensed with coiled energy—Jackson pushed off from the table to stop her—and her fist connected solidly with Affague's nose.

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	4. Chapter 4

Affague howled in pain and clutched his face in both hands. Dark blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers.

Lisa was stunned at her hotheadedness. A lifetime of kissing ass at the Lux had certainly lent weight to her reaction, but out of all the people that deserved to have their noses broken, she wasn't sure punching a man like Affague was a good place to start. He backed a few steps away from where she stood. For a moment she was certain he was putting space between them so his suit wouldn't get bloody when he shot her.

A tense moment passed where even Jackson held his breath. Suddenly a large grin spread across Affague's face and he laughed. "I can see why she gave you so much damn trouble, Jackson!" he declared as he wiped off his fingers with a handkerchief.

Jackson exhaled heavily. The air that passed through his windpipe sounded choked. "We underestimated her, sir. Completely."

"I haven't seen this much spirit in a woman in years," Affague continued, his head tilted forward as his blood soaked the handkerchief. "You are the spitting image of Joe in his prime, my dear, and I couldn't give you any greater compliment."

Lisa lightly massaged her hand and stared at him, distrustful of his enthusiasm. She shot Jackson a 'you people are fucking crazy' look before turning back to Affague. "I'd like to see my father."

"Certainly." He drew a slim cell phone from his pocket and hit a number for speed dial. A gruff voice answered and Affague muttered a few words into the receiver before returning it to his pocket. "He's on his way. Please, take a seat and relax for now. However, I must warn you that I expect to hear your version of events eventually." He casually threw the soiled cloth onto the table – a grim reminder to everyone of who had spilt first blood.

Lisa sank into a chair and tried to keep her hands from trembling. Jackson and Affague moved to the opposite side of the table and spoke in low, unhurried voices. Lisa didn't bother eavesdropping; she was still a bit stunned to be alive. The vibe of this place was vastly different from her hotel. Difficult customers at the Lux Atlantic could usually be placated with charm and polite apologies. However, this was an environment run by powerful men who could not be won over by a pretty smile when they expected concrete results. Jackson's stereotype from the plane fit perfectly: male driven, fact based logic – eat or get eaten. The food chain was in full swing here, as evidenced by unpredictably earning respect and praise from a man she barely knew after punching him in the face. She would have to maintain a tough exterior here until she returned to her real life.

Joe and two other men entered the room. One of them was carrying a black briefcase, which he set on the table in front of Affague before moving to stand against the wall with his companion. Joe settled into an empty seat next to Lisa with an angry huff. He saw the stained cloth on the table and immediately grabbed one of her hands between his own. His eyes quickly inspected her to find the source of blood and some tension melted off his face when he realized she hadn't been harmed. "You alright, sweetie?"

For once, Lisa didn't mind the question. "I think I've been better," she replied with a weak smile. Her father was responsible for dragging her into this situation, but at least he was taking her side now that it mattered.

Affague looked up from his conversation with Jackson and smiled at the two of them seated together across the table. "I hope everyone is a bit less jumpy now." Lisa saw her dad eyeing the blood still leaking from Affague's nostril, but kept his mouth shut.

Affague opened the briefcase and removed a black folder. "I realize that I have imposed on your help for long enough, and I must compensate for the damage caused. What can I do to make amends?"

A moment of silence prevailed as Lisa looked expectantly at her father. Demand that they fix everything, she silently urged him. Pull out all the stops, make deals with anyone they have to, I don't care – I just want to be safe again.

"We need new lives, Jim," her father admitted somewhat hopelessly. Lisa felt something tighten in her stomach and instantly tried to speak up, but Joe hushed her gently. She dug her toes into the carpet in frustration. "Somewhere in the country, of course. A quiet place on the west coast where we can pick up where we left off."

Affague looked at him for a long minute before sadly pursing his lips and shaking his head. The look was strangely resonant to Jackson's various looks of displeasure on the plane. "I can't arrange that specifically for you, old friend. But I have a similar proposal." He pulled two identification cards out of the black folder and casually tossed them across the table.

"Mexico," Lisa said in disbelief after glancing at the harsh plastic. "You want us to move to Mexico?"

Affague smiled pleasantly. "No one asks questions there, Miss Reisert. You can stay safe and snug inside your quaint adobe home for the rest of your life and your neighbors would never know you were involved in an assassination attempt. More importantly, they wouldn't care."

"But it's Mexico," she repeated incredulously. "I can barely speak Spanish. I couldn't work anywhere. My father and I would be hermits the rest of our lives."

"But safe hermits," Affague pointed out with a charming smile.

"No!" Lisa snapped. She shook her head and narrowed her eyes in frustration. "No, no way. You can't trash my life like this and then pretend to fix it by ruining it further!" The men shifted in their seats but remained silent, which ticked Lisa off even more. They refused to treat her like an equal, even with the bloody handkerchief still sitting in the middle of the table. "Dad, tell them they can't do this!"

"Joe, remember your obligations," Affague warned.

Lisa shot him a dirty glare and looked pleadingly at her father, who stared back with sad, heavy eyes. It was the same expression he'd had in the car, and she knew it would be accompanied by the same tired apologies. "Lisa, I knew this could happen when I first allowed you to be involved in this operation. At the time I didn't think it through, for a variety of reasons." His eyes flickered to Affague, whose face remained impassive. Lisa wondered what kind of bitter history the two men shared. "Of course I regret it now, with all my heart, but it's done. Life will be different…"

Her nose began to sting and she had to fight against wrinkling it up in pain. Burning, angry tears welled up in her eyes. Her father was still speaking compassionately, but the tense ridges in his forehead and the anxious way his eyes darted towards Affague revealed where his true concern was placed.

Lisa abruptly snatched the cards and flung them across the table, where they skidded off the edge and fell to the floor. No one bent to retrieve them. She tried to force authoritative words out of her mouth but was shaking too badly to speak—so much for her tough exterior. She stood and mutely left the room, brutally slamming the door on her way out. The expanse of carpet in the hallway muffled the noise.

Lisa paced blindly through the corridors for a long time. She didn't know how to calm her thoughts – they were all a gigantic mass of hate, humiliation, and panic that threatened to overwhelm her sanity. She had killed an innocent man while trying to save her father's life, and in return Joe was permitting this deranged, violent psycho to violate her freedom without fear of consequence. Affague must have threatened him. What a filthy coward—but suddenly she wasn't sure whether she was thinking of Affague or her father.

Lisa broke out of her reverie and realized she was completely lost. She had randomly switched directions until she had no idea what way she had come from or which way she wanted to go. There were no signs anywhere, just bland hallways punctually broken by locked doors. She looked for the glass doors as she walked, but started to panic as the hallway refused to yield any indication that they were even nearby.

A sudden raspy voice startled her. "You've been prancing in circles for fifteen minutes now, Leese. Are you about ready to stop?"

She briefly closed her eyes and tried to collect her composure, but her temper refused to be reigned in. "Why do you insist on calling me that?"

"_That_?" Jackson replied blandly. Lisa spun to face him and wished she was wearing heels so she didn't feel so pathetically small.

"You know what I mean," she snapped. "Leese. A nickname. Like we've known each other for years. If it wasn't already clear enough, I hate you more than – than anyone else I've known my entire life!"

Jackson caught her slight hesitation, the hitch in her voice as she realized she was lying halfway through the sentence. "_Almost_ more than everyone else," he corrected her smugly.

"NO!" she exploded. "I hate you just as much as I hate him! Both of you have destroyed my life, but at least I didn't have to flee the damn country after he—after he…" Lisa knew she couldn't say it, couldn't admit it out loud, not here, to him, not now—if ever. Jackson's hands would be tarnished by innocent blood the rest of his life, but somehow even that didn't feel as… low, as _dirty_—as what had happened to her that day in the parking lot.

Jackson leaned against the wall and spoke gently after a long pause. "Is it that bad to feel some emotion every now and then, Leese?"

"Stop calling me that!" Tears that had been denied for days suddenly overwhelmed her, burning her eyes and streaking down her cheeks. "My life made sense before you and your stupid boss decided to screw with it! My job was going well! I was saving money for a vacation to the Bahamas! I wanted to adopt a dog and start yoga classes and buy a new flat panel TV—"

"Who were you going to go to the Bahamas with?" Jackson interrupted.

She stared at him like he had lost his mind, but she knew exactly what he meant by the question. "What are you talking about?" she asked, afraid to hear his response.

He made an exasperated noise in his throat. "Lisa, you know damn well that the only people you associated with regularly outside of work were your father, the bartender at Cafe Demetrio and the 68 year old grandma who lived across the hall and occasionally brought you blueberry muffins." He was right. She hated him. "You've let this loser, some stranger you haven't even seen since the day it happened—you've let him completely take over your life!"

"And now you're doing the exact same thing to me you fucking hypocrite!"

"I'M NOT LIKE HIM!" Jackson roared in her face. His fury momentarily shocked her. He was breathing heavily directly in her face and the impulse to smack him was too powerful to resist. He blocked her hand impatiently. "Don't push me, _Lisa_. I am nothing like him," he repeated. "I could've done whatever I wanted to you in that airplane bathroom," he hissed in her ear. "You know that. You know that and it scares you to death. But why did I hold back? Because I didn't want to hurt you? Or even worse, because maybe poor little Lisa is so fucked up in the head that not even a fanatical assassin would want anything to do with h—"

"STOP IT JACKSON!" Lisa screamed at him feverishly. "STOP IT—STOP IT—STOP IT! You have no right to say things like that to me! You're disgusting and twisted and—"

"—and that's quite enough from you," he cut in. "Everyone here is beyond sick of constantly hearing your voice screaming and complaining. You're _alive_. People are trying to help you."

"You are _not_ trying to help! None of you are, most especially not you, Jackson!" He rolled his eyes in annoyance and she forcefully bit down the urge to shriek obscenities in his face.

Jackson turned and set off down the hallway. Lisa held her ground for as long as she could, but as he turned a corner and showed no signs of stopping she fisted the wall and hurried after him. The thought of getting caught alone in the hallway beat out her pride. Jackson passed through the glass doors, Lisa following listlessly. He stopped at a seemingly random door in the hall and unlocked it with a swift flick of his wrist. Lisa wasn't even surprised when she recognized the cerulean and cream walls of Jackson's room—could barely register a melancholy sort of irony when he glanced back expectantly at her mute form and waited for her to enter the room ahead of him.

"You're insane," she sighed. "Don't think for an instant that I'm _ever_ sleeping in your room again." Both of them knew she had no valid input over where she stayed, but to her immense relief he chuckled easily and turned to the door facing his across the hall.

"We can accommodate you elsewhere then." He selected a bronze key from a jangly ring in his pocket, inserted it into the lock and swung the door open smoothly. Lisa tried to stamp a mental picture of the key into her head, just in case. Inside the room it was cool and dark, but seemed pleasant enough once she switched the light on. The walls were painted different colors, and that was enough. She looked back at Jackson leaning in the doorway.

"How long will my father and I stay here until we.. leave?" She didn't specify their destination. Although the phantom of the dead CIA agent still haunted her thoughts, it was even harder to come to terms with the idea of completely severing ties to her normal day-to-day existence.

"As long as it takes," Jackson replied. He left the room abruptly and closed the door. Jackson's voice floated through the wood mockingly. "I'd lock my door if I were you, but I'll be right across the hall if you need me."

"Screw you!" she yelled back as she kicked the door.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	5. Chapter 5

Lisa woke instantly from her light and troubled nap when she heard a key swiveling in the lock to her room. She curled deeper into the blanket, thinking she could feign sleep, but decided she didn't want to give anyone a chance to get close to her. She sat up and twisted a corner of the fabric into a tight spiral as the door opened.

Her dad stepped into the room. A cheerful grin broke across his face and he quickly swept her into a bear hug. She wondered how long he had been forced to repress the happy smile. "Missed you, sweetie. I hope Affague and all that didn't upset you too much."

Although her bad mood still lingered from earlier, Lisa decided being civil was her better option. She returned the smile, but her lips were tight from stress and she knew it looked strained. "Customers on a bad day at the Lux make him look civil."

He laughed loudly. It was genuine, but she still sighed and shifted awkwardly on the mattress.

"Jeez Dad. This whole thing is pretty fucked up."

"Yeah, it's been quite a ride. Seems like all the fun stuff happens around here after I leave."

Lisa said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

"Some minor assignments have been botched before," he explained, "New guys cutting their teeth and not quite making it, that sort of thing. But for my own daughter to send a huge contract down the drain, single handedly none the less!" He shook his head and exhaled. "I'm so proud of you, Lisa. Jackson has a reputation for being pretty ruthless, and you bested him despite the odds."

Her smile stiffened. The compliment irked her—against 'the odds' huh, dad?

He continued, drawling in a falsely optimistic voice. "Nothing will make sense for a while, but I hope you still trust me enough to let me take care of you."

Sorry, not anymore, she thought. I trusted you for twenty-six years and you were deceiving me for the better part of the time. That privilege has been shattered and I'm not going to rebuild it for you. "All those business trips you took… You did a good job of hiding it all these years," she said reproachfully.

"Don't think of it like that, Lisa." He exhaled in fatigue. "My boss at Stanley & Connor, you remember—that law firm where I managed clients' accounts and always hated that asshole breathing down my neck? Like I told you in the car, Stanley & Connor was a front for this business, and it was my boss' responsibility to pass along potential candidates. I'm still not permitted to talk about the screening process, but you wouldn't want to hear about that. I was stagnant in the Company for a while. I guess at first I wasn't a good fit. Then Affague, who was in the same position as me at the time—well, we pulled off a hefty assignment together and our boss, Mr. Rosmarus, definitely noticed."

Joe was no longer focused on her, or anything else in the room. He was reliving his accomplishment through glazed eyes.

"More assignments, more time, more money. As long as half the paycheck was in the bank, we did our part, we did it right, and got paid the rest. We went through an astonishing number of contracts now that I think back. I can't believe Cathy held on to our marriage as long as she did. Is it any wonder she finally divorced me?" He snorted bitterly.

Hearing him laugh about her mother hit far too close to home. Tears seeped into her eyes but she quickly rubbed her eyes and pretended them away. It stung to hear him talk so casually about a job that caused such pain and anguish to innocent people. Her initial anger and shock from the car ride began to resurface as Joe continued.

"And then the old man left and Affague and I were in charge. We got pickier, only signed papers that had a decent payout. Other companies like ours wanted to team up, work together. That's what happened with this assignment, actually, with the Russians."

The tightness in her face gave her away. Joe stopped short and awkwardly wrung his hands.

"I won't say anything more about it, Leese. Not until you want me to. The whole time I've been so worried about you being involved in this. And now you know and…and I guess I'm trying to explain myself. I want it to be perfectly clear that I never laid a hand on anyone while I worked here. I was hired in as management, way above the hitmen and meat pushers. I was sort of like Jackson actually, just not as arrogant. But I wasn't as good at my job as he is, I suppose."

Lisa knew her father was rambling to cover her silence, and took some pity on his situation. "I don't understand why you guys drugged me." She had meant to ask which of them had done it, but felt it was unfair.

"Affague ordered that done. For your own safety and ours."

"So why, of all places, did I wake up in Jackson's room?"

Joe scowled. "Protocol in the Company is kept extremely tight. Although I ran the whole business with Affague back in the day, I'm technically not an employee any longer. Therefore I can't be admitted to certain parts of the building without direct permission from him. The rooms where I knew I'd be staying were in a much less secure part of the building. Affague was swamped with damage control when we got here. He didn't have time to authorize somewhere else for us to stay. Jackson knew his room was the safest place to keep you, even though he intentionally broke protocol to do it."

Lisa noted his obviously selective version of events. He didn't want her to worry about angry assassins coming after her head. "So when you kept calling before the flight, you knew what was about to happen…"

Joe tucked his face into his hands; rubbed his fingertips up under his glasses and along his eyelids. "I was so worried, Lisa. And when you called from the plane, you sounded so upset… As a parent, you never want to hear your child in pain because of something you did. I tried so hard to keep you out of it, but Jim makes up his mind fast and its damn near impossible to change it afterwards."

He frowned, and clenched his fists together, hostility rising. His eyes were red and cloudy and he continued in a beaten tone. "When you showed up at the house I was torn down the middle, relieved that you were okay but terrified because you'd dismantled the hit." He removed his glasses and scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, then thought of something off-topic and chuckled. "Whatever happened to Jackson's throat?"

Lisa grinned and tried not to look too pleased with herself. "I swiped a Frankenstein pen during the flight and rammed it into his throat once we'd landed. It was pretty ridiculous."

Joe hooted in laughter and squeezed her into a one armed hug. "That's my girl! He sure got pissed when everyone kept asking him about it. The only people he told were Affague and the doctor, and that was only after Affague ordered him to do it point-blank. Let's go get some dinner," he suggested in a brighter tone. "We have an excellent personal chef. I bet he could make you a good Seabreeze."

Lisa mentally gagged at the thought of drinking vodka. "I think I'd prefer tequila," she lamented.

"We have that too! Tequila Tuesdays are a company favorite."

Lisa stared at him. She had a weird image of Jackson and her father yelling "arriba" while wearing sombreros and downing margaritas. "You guys sure do keep the atmosphere light-hearted around here."

Joe purposely missed the sarcasm and gently steered her through the sterile hallways until they approached a set of heavy doors Lisa had never seen. Joe held his hand in front of a sensor mounted on the wall and the doors swooshed open, leading into a gorgeous plaza. There was a glass ceiling three stories up but the entire space still seemed relatively shady and cool. Tropical flowers and palm trees brightened the room. Colorful, wispy fish drifted around a shallow pond nearby. The air smelled sweet and humid, an aroma the guests at the Lux Atlantic always raved about. Her dad pointed to the glass and told her it was actually one-way mirrors. It was nicer than the lobby of the Lux, and Lisa realized that Affague's business must pull in an incredible amount of money.

"I arranged for us to have lunch with someone," Joe said as they entered a stainless steel kitchen situated off the atrium. An elegant, elderly Asian lady was seated at the kitchen table, wearing a bright blue silk dress with delicate black patterns. She held a shallow cup filled with clear liquid.

"Lisa, I would like you to meet Zhou Hiroshi."

The lady smiled at Lisa and nodded gently. "Hello."

Lisa stared until she realized her complete lack of tact. "You're… _you_ are Zhou?"

Joe cleared his throat to cover his awkwardness. "She would have handled the assignment had, ah… had events transpired differently."

Lisa couldn't think of anything to say without coming across as incredibly rude. _Zhou would have been able to keep her subdued without being so damn theatrical about the whole thing_, she remembered Affague yelling. She tried to envision her reaction to a short little oriental woman threatening the lives of Keefe and her father. She doubted that anything but Jackson's intensity would have made her take such threats seriously, much less obey the request.

Zhou sensed Lisa's surprise. "It is a pleasure to meet you, dear Lisa. I have heard so much of you from Joe over the years." Her accent blended strangely with her English.

"The pleasure is all mine," Lisa replied somewhat automatically. "How did you – well, I mean.."

"How did I end up in this line of work?" Zhou asked. Lisa shrugged a bit helplessly – she was definitely curious but uncomfortable admitting it. "I'm afraid that's a story for another time. I don't tell new acquaintances the short version." She tilted her head back and drained the small cup of liquid, coughing as she set it back on the table. "Sake," she explained in a strained voice as she thumped her chest. "Harder on me when it is the first meal of the day. Would you like some?"

Lisa shook her head and took a seat at the table. "So you were supposed to be the person who talked me into changing Keefe's room. But I would have been working at the Lux that night if my grandmother hadn't… so, how was the hit originally supposed to go?"

"That is the Company's business, not yours, young lady. But Joe had arranged with me to take good care of you. I think it would have been a more pleasant experience than Jackson's way. A pen stuck into ones throat sounds like a grave health risk for a lady of my age."

Lisa glanced at her father, who shrugged and opened the refrigerator. "How did you know about the pen?"

Zhou smiled and held a crooked finger to her lips. "Old Japanese magic," she whispered, and winked at Lisa.

"I think it's the chefs' afternoon off, honey," her dad called from across the kitchen. "Sorry for getting your hopes up. There's some lasagna in the fridge, you want some?"

Jackson's words ran unbidden through her head—_he's sitting in the TV room, eating leftover lasagna and watching the comedy marathon_—Lisa shook her head and the flashback vanished. "No thanks, dad. I'll just have a sandwich." Her body ached from not eating properly the last few days, but her stomach revolted at the thought of forcing food into it.

"I've never been to southern Florida," Zhou said as she poured another small dose of sake. So they were no longer near Miami, Lisa thought. They had to be further north… Jacksonville? Orlando? "Affague usually gives me the international jobs. What is the city like?" Lisa answered Zhou's questions about Miami and the Lux Atlantic. Joe brought over a plate of lasagna and Lisa's sandwich. Zhou was apparently content with having sake for lunch. She and Joe turned the conversation to their recent vacations – Zhou was actually semi-retired but still lived at the Company headquarters – and they exhausted several more topics that Lisa barely paid attention to. The sandwich upset her stomach and vacation talk reminded her of their upcoming banishment to Mexico.

She pushed her plate away and stood. "I think I'm going to go lay down again."

Zhou and her father looked up, then at each other. Zhou scowled and swatted Joe on the arm. "You did not tell her?"

Her father looked physically pained. "I was still trying to get her out of it," he muttered. "Sweetie, Affague wanted to speak with you after lunch. About.. the flight and all."

Exhausted tears burned into her eyes, but she blinked them away and slumped her shoulders. "Fine. Let's get it over with." She forced a smile at Zhou. "Hope to see you again, ma'am."

"Gambatte, Lisa-san."

Joe placed the dishes in the sink and reentered the lobby. They took two flights of stairs and entered a hallway with a shiny, dark floor and security cameras mounted from the ceiling every twenty feet. They were the first cameras she'd noticed, but she knew there had to be others hidden throughout the entire building. Even in her room? The thought made her feel even sicker.

Joe nodded and stopped outside a door, unremarkable when compared to the others in the hallway. "I love you, Lisa. Just be as honest as possible and answer all of his questions. You're lucky he likes you." He knocked, gave her a quick hug, opened the door and pushed her in.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	6. Chapter 6

_A year earlier…_

"That's her," Joe said, sliding a small photo across the table towards Jackson. "She just got promoted to front desk manager at her job last week."

She certainly looked like she belonged at the welcome desk of some 5-star business. Her initial demeanor seemed warm and inviting, with her head tilted to the side and curly honey-brown hair framing her smiling face. She didn't like having her picture taken, betrayed by the way her lips were pressed a little tight and she didn't show her teeth. But Joe definitely had a cute daughter. Too bad he'd never meet her.

:o:

:o:

:o:

_Several months later…_

"Our target has a history of staying at the same hotel in Miami. Isn't he going there on his tour in a few months?" Jackson asked his boss.

"He'd have to. That's a major port city," Affague replied. "What's the hotel?"

"Lux Atlantic. Seems pretty ritzy. Nice suites. There's pictures on the website."

"Is there a staff page?"

"Let me check…" Jackson clicked to a page titled 'Our Team.' Bland, smiling faces framed short, half-assed biographies. "Message from the Manager," he drawled as he scrolled down. "We're here to make your visit the best it can be. Please don't sue us if our maids steal your shit—"

"Stop it, Jackson."

Jackson shut his mouth but couldn't resist a derisive smirk. "Whom did you have in mind?" he asked a moment later.

"Someone … pliable," Affague muttered as he leaned over Jackson's shoulder. "Not anyone too important. Keep going down." Her picture appeared on the screen, the same one that Jackson had seen a few years ago. "Reisert? Lisa Reisert? Joe's daughter?" Affague's tone was gleefully sinister.

For a split second, Jackson wanted to protect her — tell him, "No, Joes' daughter looks nothing like that, must be a coincidence" — wanted to spare her from getting dragged into Affague and Joe's private and brutal feud. But it was only for a second, and the moment passed. "Yeah, that's her," he replied. He hated the sulky defeat in his tone.

:o:

:o:

:o:

_The night of the red eye…_

Jackson hated taxis. He always managed to get perpetually chatty drivers before important stages of a contract – right when he preferred silence to gather his thoughts and relax. "Where're you flying to tonight, sir?" the driver asked. He was a lively black guy with a shaved head, medium build, and a gun under his seat. Jackson briefly imagined the best way to kill him, just to stay on his toes.

"Boston," Jackson lied easily. "My grandmother died."

"Aw, sorry to hear that man. I hope the weather gon' be nicer to you up there." The taxi pulled up at the passenger drop-off.

"You have no idea," Jackson muttered. He paid the driver, didn't tip too lavishly because he didn't want to be remembered, and ducked out into the pouring rain.

Fuck Texas. Fuck little old grandmas. Fuck Affague for sending him out here and then making him do the whole damn assignment. Both he and Zhou knew Affague had wanted it this way from the start, and had just been waiting for a chance to screw over Joe's strict terms.

The airport was crowded with delayed passengers who clustered together in fatigued groups. Jackson wandered until he found the FreshAir check-in counter. His cell showed two hours until their flight left. He settled into the middle of a bank of chairs that offered a clear view of the counter and the direction he knew Lisa would arrive from. The nearest security camera was behind him which concealed his face, and he picked up a newspaper on a nearby seat that was already peppered with thousands of fingerprints.

Don't leave a trail before, don't leave a trail after. Come out of the faceless crowd only when necessary. Breathe, dumbass. Don't get worked up. You have an easy job tonight – almost exclusive access to the target for the rest of the night, in a location where you will have control. You've watched Lisa for weeks and there's no way threatening dear old Joe won't scare her witless. She'll be begging to call Cynthia half an hour into the flight. His thoughts wandered as he perused the newspaper and tried to look like any other inconvenienced traveler who was harassed by the weather.

A nerve shattering hour and forty-five minutes later, he was ready when Lisa passed by in the middle of an exasperating conversation with who had to be her father. Cutting it a little bit close Leese, he thought as he smoothly fell into step about 20 feet behind her, slightly to the right. Lisa was glancing to the left, searching for the FreshAir counter. Her distracted chatter finally broke off as she paused by a large monitor and checked departure times to Miami. She stepped closer to the screen and her shoulders slumped when she saw the red eye had been delayed.

Jackson entered the FreshAir line behind her, newspaper tucked nonchalantly under his arm. For the first time in two months he didn't have to worry about being seen by her, could talk to her like a normal person – and for the life of him he couldn't think of anything to say. How do you re-start knowing someone after eight weeks?

:o:

:o:

:o:

_After the red eye…_

The drive was long and tense. Jackson gingerly tapped the puncture wound in his throat. No one had spoken after Lisa had finally shut up, but his private thoughts had been raging full force for the better part of an hour.

A pen. A fucking stupid looking pen had been his downfall on that plane. He had won that contract after breaking the girl down for three straight hours, and at the end of it all she had literally pulled one last trick out of her sleeve and thrown everything to hell. But Jackson had had the ultimate secret. _C'mon, Leese. Can't you figure this out? Your dad used to be my boss._ He relished the memory of the look on her face – stunned, incredulous – like he had masterminded _that_ part of the plan as well and bribed Joe to be in on the whole thing with him.

He looked up and met Joe's eyes in the rearview mirror. They looked aged and bloodshot behind the thick frames of his glasses, but Jackson understood the silent order and nodded curtly in response. Joe exited the highway and pulled up to a pump at the closest gas station. Lisa obstinately stared out the window, and missed the wistful look Joe gave her before he climbed out of the car.

"You want a drink, Lisa?" Jackson asked.

She looked back at him warily in the rearview mirror as he exited the car. "Um, sure. An orange juice or something."

He frowned at her. "I've never seen you drink orange juice."

"Then get me something I'll like," she snapped.

Jackson entered the gas station and headed for the soda fountain. He swiftly did his routine glance for cameras and alternate exits, evaluated the peppy clerk and the customers waiting in line to pay. None of them looked suspicious or even glanced his way. The cops definitely hadn't caught up to them yet.

He set a cup onto the grate of the soda machine and took a tiny Ziploc out of his back pocket. He dumped the white powder it contained into the cup, pressed the button for cherry coke and mixed it with the gushing soda. He picked up a box of Gobstoppers at the counter, mutely paid for both despite the clerk's attempts to be friendly, and returned to the car. Lisa accepted the soda without question and took a long sip.

Joe finished pumping gas a moment later and settled back into the drivers sear. "All set, Jackson?" It was a code phrase they had used for years.

"Yes, sir."

Ten exits later, Joe left the highway again and parked behind a strip mall. They pulled an unconscious Lisa out of the passenger seat and laid her across the bench seat in back. Jackson sat in front and resettled his suit.

Joe eyed the red scarf still tied around Jackson's throat. "So what happened on the plane?"

Jackson was silent for a long minute. "You would have been proud of her, Joe," he finally said.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa was barely conscious by the time they reached the Company headquarters in Orlando a few hours later. Joe entered the underground parking garage and pulled up to the curb by the elevator. A young agent named Neil was waiting for them.

"Nice to see you again, sir," he said to Joe. "Affague wants you in his office. Jackson, drop off Lisa in any of the guest rooms and proceed straight to his office as well."

Joe frowned. "Affague issued a no-kill order for her, right?"

"No, sir. He hasn't."

"Damn Affague and his grudges!"

"Some of the agents have keys to the guest rooms," Jackson said quietly, thinking out loud. "She won't be protected there."

Neil shrugged. "It's Affague's orders. Do what you have to do. You better get going, sir," he said to Joe. "Affague knows you're here."

A familiar determination settled into Joe's eyes. "Keep her safe, Jackson." It was a distinct order. He took the stairs and left them the elevator.

Jackson glanced towards Neil. "Can you help me move her?" Neil shrugged again, in a perfect imitation of carelessness he'd picked up from Jackson. Jackson opened the back door. Lisa was sprawled on her side across the bench, pillowing her head on her elbow. He leaned into the car and shook her shoulder gently. "Leese, it's time to go." She stirred at his voice and tucked her head deeper into her elbow. He leaned further into the car and brushed her bangs back from her forehead before he could stop himself. "Leese! C'mon." His hand curled around to the back of her neck and he lifted her head.

Her hand instinctively snapped to his wrist and her eyes opened a moment later. They were dull from the effects of the drug, which could cause short-term memory loss and dizziness.

He spoke urgently before she realized who he was and shut him out. "We need to go—now. Get up." He couldn't read any change in her expression, but she let go of his wrist and sat up.

"Where…" she began to ask, but her eyes unfocused until she wasn't looking at anything.

"I'll tell you later. Put your arms around my shoulders."

Her brow furrowed childishly. "Get away from me."

"You know what Lisa? You can be as pissed as a bat out of hell later but not right now." He scooped her to her feet by her armpits, told her to shut up when she started throwing a hissy fit and propped her in the corner of the waiting elevator.

Neil shut the car door and followed them. "You guys are in so much trouble," he announced as he pushed the button for the ground floor.

"How bad is it?"

"The Russians aren't returning our calls. Affague had to pull in a lot of favors to keep your photos off the internet. He's throwing out some pretty outrageous bribes. One guy got a new boat."

Jackson stared blankly into space at the bad news. Lisa stared even more blankly at her reflection in the mirrored ceiling. "So that's her?" Neil asked. Jackson gave him a stony look. The elevator gears whirred in the brief silence. "She's… short," Neil continued in a carefully neutral voice.

"She could kick your ass." The doors pulled apart and revealed an intersection of bland hallways. "Keep a look out for Stan. I know he's around here hunting for blood." Jackson attempted to drag Lisa out of the elevator but she steeled her grip against the handrails.

"Who.. and where…?" she asked, still fighting through the drug induced haze.

"It's not important right now," he told her, and tried to pry her fingers off of the bar. "Let go, stupid woman!"

"Make me!" she yelled back.

Jackson growled and wrenched her hands away from the metal rail. He caught her wrists together and dragged her into the hallway. Lisa resisted violently but was uncoordinated from being drugged. She tripped over a wayward foot and fell straight into Jackson. He scooped her up tightly into his arms so she couldn't break out of his grasp and carried her down the corridor. Neil followed quietly with a slightly awed look on his face.

"Let me go! I hate you!"

At that instant, Stan Otek rounded the corner. He was a large, stocky Polish man that Joe would have refused to hire, but Affague had recently welcomed with open arms. Upon seeing Lisa he bellowed in anger and advanced with his gun drawn. "Is that her?"

Jackson dropped Lisa to her feet and shoved her behind him. Jackson anchored himself directly between her and Stan.

"Get out of the way, Jackson!" Stan roared as he approached.

"Back the fuck off."

"She ruined our plans and fucked up the contract and she's gonna pay for being a little bitch!"

Jackson drew his gun from the small of his back, released the safety and calmly pointed the nozzle at Stan's face. "I'm not saying it again."

Stan's face colored and his features distorted in anger. "Jackson, quit being a dick! You were on the fucking plane with her! You know she deserves to die for being such a pain in the ass!"

"Affague decides who is a pain in the ass, not you Stan," Jackson sneered. "And right now, she's only supposed to be a pain in the ass to me. So I'd suggest getting the fuck out of my way." In reality, Lisa was only as important as Jackson made her out to be. It was a dangerous game to play against Stan, not to mention Affague, and for the moment he hoped pulling rank was enough.

Stan blanched at the reprimand and lowered his gun. "Fuck you Jackson," he muttered pathetically.

"Neil, get him out of here."

"Get moving, Stan." Neil grabbed Stan's arm but the Polish man snapped off the younger associate's grip with a vicious snarl.

"No goddamn bottomcrawler tells me what to do!"

"But it's _me_ telling you, and unless Affague walks around that corner and says otherwise, you better get far away from me and keep it that way," Jackson snapped, his patience finally lost.

Neil grabbed Stan's arm once more and steered him back down the hallway to the elevator. Jackson switched on his safety, but kept his gun loosely pointed in their direction until they'd vanished into the stairwell.

He glanced at Lisa who was cowering against the wall. She had fucked up the Company's plans more than she could have possibly realized, and Jackson felt a distant mental pinch as he realized keeping her safe – mentally and physically – was going to be far more complicated than he or Joe had anticipated.

"C'mon Leese," he sighed, taking her arm. "You're lucky I like you."

:o:

:o:

:o:

"So what happened." When Affague was pissed his questions never sounded like questions.

Jackson didn't answer, just crossed his arms and kept his mouth shut. A few seconds passed.

Affague snorted. "Jackson, Frank needs to know what happened to you so he can fix you properly." To Affague, people were never hurt or wounded – they were either broken or fixed with a very narrow line in between the two.

Jackson shrugged disdainfully, still not volunteering any information.

"You drive me to my wits end sometimes," Affague snarled. He drew his pistol, switched off the safety and pointed it at Jackson's head.

"You wouldn't," Jackson smirked.

Affague didn't move. "Don't be stupid."

An awful silence filled the room. Jackson was fairly sure that Frank the doctor was literally holding his breath.

"She stabbed me in the throat," Jackson muttered finally. "With a pen."

The shocked look on Affague's face almost made up for the humiliation.

:o:

:o:

:o:

_Present time…_

"They're coming up the stairs now," Jackson said as he entered Affague's office. "Joe caught her off guard about the interview. She shouldn't be too resistant if you promise her a change of clothes afterwards. A pair of shoes, too." He passed his fingers across the scabbed wound on his throat, an action that had become disturbingly frequent in the last few days.

Affague glanced his way and nodded curtly. "After this, I expect you to say something to maintain Lisa's mental distance from Joe. Joe knows his place but if Lisa felt she could trust him again, they could do untold damage. I don't want them collaborating on our downfall from Mexico. You don't have to tell her something that's true. If you say the right thing she'll obviously never find out you lied."

Jackson nodded and took a seat in his favorite chair. He already had something terrible to tell her, a story that would hopefully scare her away from trusting Joe for a very long time. Too bad it wasn't exactly a lie.

:o:

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	7. Chapter 7

Lisa entered a richly decorated office with polished wood walls and a dark floor. The lone window directly across from the door was covered by tightly sealed venetian blinds, and flanked on either side by shelves filled with heavy bound books. Intense, malevolent paintings adorned the walls. Affague sat behind a sleek desk covered in folders and neat stacks of paper. Jackson lounged in a black vinyl chair that sank low to a large white shag carpet. Another chair and matching couch were arranged in a comfortable U around a glass coffee table. The room wasn't very large, and combined with the low lighting the dark furnishings shrank the space further.

Both men stood as she stepped inside. "Ah, Lisa. Glad you could make it," Affague said, as if he had invited her over for lunch and not an interrogation. "Please, have a seat." Jackson resumed his spot in the black chair and she sank onto the far end of the couch. "I assume you know what this is about. I hope to keep the interview short, my dear. I know you're more than ready for a shower and a change of clothes."

Lisa pressed her lips together and leaned back into the dark cushioning. Affague had told her that he expected to hear her side of the story, but she hadn't thought he'd actually follow through on the request so soon. As she mentally skimmed the events of the flight, her stomach sank at the thought of telling a stranger how she'd slowly broken under Jackson's pressure, and what had went on in that tiny bathroom… shit. But one thing was certain: if Affague wanted an apology, he wasn't getting it from her.

Affague uncapped a pen and looked at her expectantly. "Please start at the beginning, in the airport."

She glanced pointedly at Jackson. "Is he leaving?"

"I prefer that he stayed, Miss Reisert."

"I'm not going to say very nice things about him."

"I wouldn't expect you to. Just pretend he isn't here."

She started slow; talking about the delayed flight and giving her Dr. Phil book to the old lady. "Then this customer next to us in line got uppity and Jackson basically told him off. I guess it wasn't the worst first impression ever," she conceded grudgingly. She mentioned the iced coffee dumped down her shirt and her spontaneous decision to have a drink with Jackson at the Tex-Mex.

"Jackson told me that you had some calls to make. Whom did you talk to?"

_Just be as honest as possible and answer all of his questions._ Sure dad, whatever you say. "I called my father again, and told him the flight had been delayed." Call me on it, I dare you.

Affague hesitated a moment but didn't comment on her answer. "Jackson also told me that you ordered a different drink from your usual preference. Could you tell me why?"

Lisa frowned at Jackson, who had his legs crossed and was idly playing with a rubber band. "Because I wanted to piss him off."

"Lisa," Affague chided, "You didn't know who he really was at this point. The truth please."

"Because I'm allowed to change my mind," she shot back.

Affague's eyebrows drifted upwards in mock surprise, daring her to lie again. "The truth, please," he repeated.

"Because it was the first drink I'd had with a guy in two years and it irked me that he was able to _guess_ my favorite!" she snapped, glaring hotly at Jackson.

"Don't be so predictable then," he replied, not looking at her.

"I'm not predictable! You cheated!" she seethed. "So then, I board the plane and, lucky me, Jackson's seat is right next to mine…" She described Jackson's transformation from a random guy into a crazy assassin ("manager," Jackson grumbled) and then told Affague about the various ways she had tried to get out of making the call. He seemed intensely interested throughout her narration, occasionally asking questions and taking notes.

She talked steadily about calling her father to make sure he was okay, scribbling a message in the old woman's book and getting headbutted, about the phone line being disrupted and trying to fake the conversation with Cynthia.

Lisa realized the part where she asked to go to the bathroom was coming up, and she slowed down her narration, stalling for time to think of some way to quickly gloss over it. She couldn't put the feeling into words, but her reaction to whatever had passed between them in that tiny room was meant to stay private.

"What next, Miss Reisert?" Affague impatiently prompted her.

"Well, I asked to use the restroom because I felt awful. I mean, my head hurt and my stomach was upset. Sort of like I feel now."

Affague bent his head to write a long note on his paper. He spoke without looking up. "So you went to the restroom and came back without incident?" Lisa glanced over at Jackson, startled by Affague's incorrect assumption.

Jackson caught her eye and almost imperceptibly shook his head. The small motion instantly complicated her negative opinion of him. He hadn't told his boss anything about throwing her around in that claustrophobic space and the terrible discovery lurking under the thin fabric of her shirt…

Affague looked up. "Miss Reisert?"

"There was one incident," she replied evenly, staring at Jackson and then turning back to Affague. "I believe it shocked him more than anything else that happened that night."

She could feel the intensity of his bright blue eyes fixed on her, and grinned at the agony she was putting him through. "I stole a pen from another passenger and later jammed it into Jackson's throat."

A smile ghosted across Affague face. Jackson had just barely left the rubber band intact. "Why did you finally decide to call your hotel, Lisa?" Affague asked.

"At that point, I was out of options. My father's life was on the line. Keefe is the Head of Homeland Security and he's someone's father too… but it was _my_ father that was in trouble. Jackson forced me to be selfish." And scared the shit out of me in the process…

"What happened after you left the plane?"

Lisa reflected for a moment. It felt like that frantic hour had happened to a different person. "I was powerwalking through the terminal… I took off my sweater so it'd be harder for anyone to recognize me from the flight. And then.. some security guys ran past, but I pretended to be from Airport Food Services so they didn't notice me. I spotted Jackson and I swear I thought his scarf was red because he'd bled all over it… I stole a car so I could make it back to my father's house… ran over a CIA agent on the front lawn. And then Jackson showed up and it suddenly turned into a reunion."

"An impressive ending," Affague smiled. "You are remarkably quick at thinking on your feet. Have you ever thought about working for us?"

Lisa stared, appalled by his suggestion. "Unless you have any more questions, this interview is over."

"No more questions. You covered everything marvelously." He stood and walked around the side of the desk. Lisa noticed that he had a limp – not a bad one, he hid it well – but it definitely jarred his movement. "Your flight to Mexico leaves in two hours. Keep Joe in line for me, my dear. Jackson, if you will please."

Jackson held the door open for her and she slid past into the hallway. "I'm so sick of this place," she grumbled.

"Don't let it get to you. Affague is a stubborn, crotchety old guy who wants to make all of this seem imposing. Did you know that when the three of us first showed up here, he wasn't going to authorize a safer room for you until I convinced him to?"

"But.. my father said he just didn't have time…"

"Don't believe everything Joe tells you, especially concerning this place. Affague had three hours notice to put his signature on a pre-printed piece of paper that would have officially granted you protection."

Affague's deceitfulness was no surprise, but Jackson's criticism of him was unexpected. She knew she had done the Machiavellian boss no favors by disrupting Keefe's contract, but why had Affague… she didn't know how to place the feeling into words… why had Affague taken it so personally? Was he petty enough to treat her so fecklessly even though it was only because of his ex-partner's permission that she was involved in the first place?

"And you shouldn't have lied to him," Jackson added.

Lisa stopped short, reliving the memory of Jackson just barely jerking his chin and the strange complexity it had spawned. "You told me not to tell him about that!"

Jackson shook his head and kept walking. "I meant about calling your dad again before the flight."

"Who says I lied about that? You weren't there."

He finally stopped and turned to face her, hands tucked casually in his pockets. "I checked your phone while you were knocked out on the plane. You didn't have any outgoing calls that matched the time before our flight."

Lisa could have yelled at him and received some trite comeback for her trouble, but going through her phone log seemed so inconsequential in the grander scheme of how he'd invaded her privacy. Jackson saw the resistance filter out of her face and held out his arm, indicating to keep moving. Lisa frowned heavily and folded her arms as she passed him. The hand discreetly dropped back to his side.

"Why didn't you tell him? About.. you know…"

"Did you want me to?" he countered. "You certainly had your chance."

"Why didn't you?" she repeated through gritted teeth.

Jackson's lip curled. He swiped his hand through the sensor and led them into the now familiar maze of bland hallways. He didn't answer until they'd entered Lisa's room and shut the door behind him. She tried to perch casually on the bed, but her fingers were curled too tightly into the cover to appear truly relaxed.

"It was between us and I kept it that way. Affague doesn't always have to know everything." He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "But since we're on the topic of keeping secrets, you want to know something I find rather interesting?"

Instantly curious, but wary of his answer, she nodded.

"Two years ago, Affague and Joe were in thick with a disastrous contract. We were working in tandem with a group of mercenaries in Malaysia. They called themselves the Malaccas and they were a herd of ruthless, uncivilized idiots. Zhou was over there working as an on-site representative when one of their men got out of line and assaulted her, in _that_ way. The incident messed her up pretty bad and she had to bribe quite a few people to get into a hospital, no questions asked. Joe was _pissed_. I know you've seen your father angry before but I doubt it was like this.

"The day after it happened, he sent one of our agents after the guy and told him to let blood fly, which is normally against our policy. But after that, there was no revenge from the Malaccas, not that anyone knew of at least, which was strange because blood feuds between agencies never end that fast or cleanly. And then, oddly enough, you reveal that you were raped in a parking lot two years back, and Joe never mentioned it to _any_ of us, and isn't it funny how those timelines match up…"

The tears swarming in her vision were easy to blink away, but forcing down the thick sense of nausea that accompanied Jackson's words was much harder. "That's impossible Jackson." _No it wasn't. _"I just randomly happened to park next to the creep's van. It could've happened to anyone." _But it didn't._

"It was not a coincidence that it happened to you," Jackson echoed. "The Malaccas hired someone over here to send a warning to Joe—"

"Jackson, quit it! I don't want to hear your stupid theories! I don't want to know that I was already connected to this damn place before Keefe's contract. I've come to terms with being a victim of random violence—"

"No you haven't—"

"—and the last thing I want to find out is that someone followed me like you did—targeted me—planned to hurt me like that—it's disgusting and why does all this terrible stuff always happen to me?" Her chin buckled and despair flooded her senses. She slid to the floor and pinched her eyes shut as tears slipped past the lashes. A small, naive part of her had wondered if Jackson hadn't revealed her secret because he wanted to do her a favor, maybe call a truce in some way. But now she knew his true intent: keeping it as his own personal weapon against her and, like most things Jackson got his hands on, he used it with devastating effectiveness.

For a moment Jackson felt bad for picking on her when she was already out of her league. But Affague had been explicit with his orders. Although it was easier to send Lisa and Joe to the same place in Mexico, they had to make sure Lisa hated being there with him. He had to drive the point home as cruelly as possible.

Jackson settled next to her on to the floor, and caught her shoulder when she tried to scoot away. "Joe never told any of us what happened to you," he repeated. "You saw my reaction on the plane. Maybe I deceived you about a lot of things that night, but not then. Eight weeks of tailing you and I never found that out. Affague doesn't know either. He wasn't skipping over it half an hour ago because Joe or I told him to. But your father… Joe knows what happened in that parking lot. It explains his obsessive protection of you. What I don't understand is, it happened while he still worked here. What better way to deal with some petty rapist then send a highly trained assassin after him – hell, two or three? Joe would've barely had to lift a finger and that fucker would've died horribly in less than a day. What sort of father wouldn't want a messy, painful revenge for anyone who touched his daughter without his permission? But as far as you and I know, that guy is still walking around somewhere because you were too shaken up by your scar in the bathroom to indicate otherwise."

Yes, her father did know what had happened. He was the only person in the world she had ever told… besides Jackson, in her momentary lapse of judgment on the red eye. And if what he said was true… shit, no matter how she turned it around, if her father had had an army of assassins at his beck and call why _hadn't_ he sent one of them after the guy? Maybe he had sent someone, but off the books and kept it a secret all this time, and was just waiting for a chance to tell her… but Jackson dashed that hope before it could go anywhere.

"Zhou was too banged up to fly back stateside after the assault. She was still holed up in a dirty hospital in Malaysia when our agent killed the Malaccan thug. My educated guess tells me you were raped shortly after, with Zhou still vulnerable in the hospital. Joe must have known he'd received his only warning, because one more move on his part would have resulted in a messy, painful death for Zhou.

"And if you were Joe, and it came down to avenging your daughter – without her ever knowing – but killing your best friend in the process, or do nothing, be professional and let time heal all of the blood and pain… well, we both know which route he chose. They set him up with an impossible choice. They forced him into a stalemate."

Lisa didn't speak – she couldn't possibly think up a good enough response. The way Jackson talked – logically, calm – had a way of cutting her thoughts to shreds. His painful words swirled around her mind and she felt her entire life ripping free and swirling with them.

"You had lunch with Zhou today, didn't you?"

"Yeah…" she said miserably, thinking of the polite lady who had struck her as the last person imaginable who could pass for an assassin.

"And why do you think he arranged that? To meet one of his old friends? No, he wanted to put a face to her name, wanted you to see she's a little oriental lady who has a cute sake habit, because once you think of her like that it's a lot harder to hate her."

"The same sure as hell doesn't go for you."

"What, I don't have a cute sake habit?" He stood and pulled her to her feet. "So. Mexico…" he drawled with a cheeky smile.

"God, I wish I could kill you."

"Everyone in this building is thinking the same thing about you. You look awful. Take a shower and I'll have fresh clothes waiting by the time you're done."

"You better not be waiting with them."

He grinned. "That's my choice, not yours. But I doubt you'll see me again for a long time." He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled towards the door.

"Aw, not going to come stalk me in Mexico?" Lisa retorted sarcastically.

Jackson watched her with an unreadable expression, ever the master with his emotions. He walked towards her slowly, until he was there – _right_ there in front of her – and a heavy moment of rushing blood passed in silence. Jackson breathed, "That's my choice, Leese, not yours." He watched her a moment longer, grinned again and left the room.

:o:

:o:

:o:

It was the strangest plane ride she'd ever gotten ready for, topping the hastily arranged flight for her grandma's funereal. She didn't have luggage or a ticket. There was no check in or lines for security, no "now seating section C" or dreading the inevitable wailing baby. Worst of all, she found no sense of relief from the thought of landing and emerging from the plane in one solid piece. All of her feelings had been deleted and replaced by an aching dread that she was unwilling to examine or deal with.

A plain shirt and pair of sweatpants had been laid on the bed by the time she emerged in a safely wrapped towel from the steaming bathroom. The outfit she'd worn on the plane was too ragged to salvage. She tossed the clothes in the trashcan. What a pathetic end to the three most harrowing days of her life.

Lisa changed and waited in silence on the bed until Joe entered with a sad smile, holding a pair of shoes. He may or may not have been talking as he escorted her to an elevator that sank several floors into a parking garage, where a black limo idled at the curb.

Affague was there waiting. He smiled blandly at Joe and opened a folder at an angle so Lisa couldn't see inside. He talked in a low voice and occasionally gestured to the contents of the folder. She figured he was giving Joe last minute instructions.

Lisa moved towards the limo, and in the window's shiny reflection she saw a tall, dark form emerge from the stairwell. "Lisa." She didn't turn, just slowly glanced back over shoulder. Jackson looked frustrated, soaked in words he couldn't speak. Lisa resolutely held her blank expression and offered no help, and his face cleared, reset by some internal process. "Take care of yourself, Leese." She nodded and climbed into the vehicle without another look back.

The limo pulled outside into a bright, cloudless day. Out the rear window was the hateful building where she'd spent the past few days. It was dazzling to look at, about six or seven floors high and covered from top to bottom with windows that mirrored the sky. There were no signs or company logos – in fact the entire building was nondescript and definitely didn't look like it housed the headquarters of a highly organized and highly illegal organization of assassins. It stood alone on a few acres of forested land and a dark, paved road connected it to a divided highway.

The limo parked in a private airstrip ten minutes later. She and Joe boarded a small but sturdy looking plane. The interior had been gutted and refurnished with deep leather recliners and compact, stylish couches. It could hold ten people easily, twenty if they squished. Two dark suited agents sat in the front row of seats, murmuring to each other as they looked over a stack of papers. They didn't glance up when Lisa walked by, but briefly nodded to Joe.

Lisa stretched out on one of the couches and Joe settled in a recliner next to her. The plane jolted as it picked up speed and lifted off the runway. Lisa closed her eyes and counted repeatedly to twenty-two, her lucky number. It was an old tactic she used for controlling her nerves but she found it didn't distract her as well as it used to. Once they were safely in the air, Joe opened the folder from Affague and offered her a peek inside.

"You see that check, honey? A hundred thousand American dollars to spend as we please, and there's more once we run out. Jim figured you'd want to go on a shopping spree at some point, maybe go to Mexico City and get some new clothes."

Lisa barely glanced at the piece of paper and ignored her father's false cheerfulness. "It's dirty money."

He laughed but looked slightly put out. "Leese, it's not counterfeit…"

"You know that's not what I mean! Dad, we're going to _Mexico_. In the last few days I've lost everything I've ever worked for and every passing minute further screws up my chances at getting any of it back. I'm leaving behind my job, all the stuff in my apartment, all my friends…" Well, Cynthia.

"I told you, sweetie, that things would be different now. Jim is going to try to restore our lives in the States eventually, but there's just too much attention on us right now."

"Don't lie, dad. Affague doesn't give a shit about me." He sat up straighter and prepared to convince her otherwise, but she bluntly cut him off. "Jackson told me. More than one person wanted me dead back there. Affague could've authorized a different room for me before we got there, but he refused to move me to a secure place and left you and Jackson to deal with my safety. He's a coward and a traitor to his old partner."

_And you're a coward and a traitor to me._

Her father looked unsettled at this revelation. "What else did Jackson tell you?"

"What does it matter? You guys have made a business out of flooding people with half-truths and lies. And the sick thing is, it's profitable. I'm never going back there."

Her father tried to resume their conversation, but Lisa had already retreated into her thoughts and shut him out. She couldn't bear to resurface the other things Jackson had told her – Joe being the ultimate cause of her rape and then refusing to take responsibility for it, essentially choosing Zhou and the Company over her… Lies or not, Jackson had created a stinging seed of doubt, but even if she confronted her father with an accusation she couldn't trust him to be truthful with her. In fact, the only person who _hadn't_ lied to her in the past few days was Affague, but that certainly didn't improve her opinion of him.

Her thoughts trailed back to the CIA officer at her dad's house – the look on his face when she'd run him straight through a glass door and left his lifeless corpse in the foyer… Ugh, she couldn't deal with that. What was happening with the Lux Atlantic? What did Cynthia and Keefe think about her phone calls and sudden disappearance? She had called right before the connection between Jackson and her father had been revealed. Cynthia would have realized something was wrong when Lisa didn't show up at the Lux, would have been able to explain that there was no way Lisa was involved—Lisa, who was so dedicated to her job, always working late… But, the police would ask, if she was always at work, couldn't she have been planning this operation the whole time? And Cynthia would go on to praise her virtuous, sensitive nature and wholeheartedly deny that Lisa would ever knowingly get mixed up in something like that… Poor Cynthia, who couldn't even handle an irate older couple without needing backup…

Lisa fell into a numb trance, surrounded by her plague of negative thoughts. The plane hummed onwards to Mexico.

:o:

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	8. Chapter 8

"The vehicle Lisa Reisert stole from the airport matches the tire tracks running across her front lawn. A neighbor gave an exact description of the stolen SUV. The front door had clearly been smashed to bits, and without a doubt someone in front of the car was shoved through it. The glass pieces are bloody, our lab work shows the floor right inside tested positive for blood residue and cleaning chemicals. But when our guys show up, there's abso-fucking-lutely no sign of either car or body." Mr. Walter, a CIA officer with a bad comb over, finished shuffling the cards and set them on the table to his right. "Nagourney, get off your phone. You're small blind. Cut these for me, Hastings."

Every Thursday a group of CIA officials gathered in the back room of a comedy club for a game of Texas Hold'em poker. They drank dark liquor and casually threw around money and rumors until the single digit hours of the morning, but this particular week the players that had dropped out early had gone home. The Keefe case had a lot of people working overtime, fixing mistakes they were paid to prevent in the first place.

An attractive waitress dressed in a column of black entered their private room carrying a glass bottle. The comedian on stage had just launched into a fresh joke, drawing on the energy of his audience. "He told me he was from Alabama. I asked him, didja know that toothbrushes were invented in Alabama? He said hells bells, I sure didn't. How d'you know that? And I told him, well if it'd been invented anywhere else it'd be called a teeth-brush!" The crowd's muted hum of laughter lifted into an obnoxious roar.

The waitress moved around the table refilling glasses and tried to hide an entitled smile when Walter slipped her a fifty-dollar tip. Nagourney lifted the bottle out of her grasp and set it on the table next to him. Hastings silently pinched half the cards and replaced them under the rest of the deck.

Walter continued once the door had shut and the laughter had faded. "And on top of that, there's no girl, there's no assassin from the plane, there's no Joe Reisert, there's no Joe Reisert's car. So did the assassin make it back to Reisert's house before Lisa and she ran _him_ through the door, or was there someone already there who was hostile toward Joe and Lisa? And who cleaned everything up?"

Hastings chewed on the end of a cigar with a disgruntled frown. "Perhaps the Reiserts' did it? Popped the body into the trunk and dumped it somewhere on their way out of town."

"The chemicals used to clean the floor didn't match anything we found at the house. In fact, the chemicals didn't match anything brand name on the market, so it was either a home brewed mix or they picked it up somewhere shady."

"Maybe the assassin's organization was on the scene before we got there and destroyed as much evidence as they could manage. The neighbor who spotted the SUV had to drop off her kid at school, and by the time she got back the front lawn was cleared. It was a fast job, makes sense there would have been a lot of backup in the area with such a big hit. We also know Mr. Reisert has contacts with a mercenary group based somewhere on the east coast," Hastings reminded the group. "However, for now we've ruled out the possibility that he was connected to this hit because of his daughter's rough treatment, her last minute phone call to the hotel and the events at her father's home."

"_You've_ ruled it out, maybe. There's always more to these kinds of cases than you might think," Walter cautioned as he dealt two cards each to the three of them seated at the red felt poker table. "The man in the seat next to Lisa, the assassin, purchased his ticket by credit card. 'Larry Kremer' is the name on the account, linked to an address in Seattle. Obviously not a real name, but it's a start. Maybe his organization is located on the west coast. Nagourney, keep up. Check or raise?"

Alex Nagourney, the youngest man at the table, ducked his Iphone under the table and peeked at his cards. "I'll check. I know we discussed it to death earlier, but I still wonder if the Resierts' were kidnapped or killed by the assassin's group. It makes sense they would have had people posted at the dad's house, so maybe they apprehended Lisa when she showed up and took off with the whole family."

"Either way, it's pretty convenient for Lisa that she vanished. I woulda thrown her into the interrogation room and done worse than any group of terrorists." Walter passed his hand over his comb over in frustration and glanced at the man to his right. "Hastings, it's your turn."

Hastings tapped his cards against the table a few times. "That's evil, Walter. Check."

"I'm raising. A hundred to play this round, gents." Mr. Walter dropped two fifty-dollar chips into the middle of the table. Both men matched the raise and Walter dealt three cards face up – a three of clubs and a ten and Jack of hearts. "The stewardess, remember that red haired gal with the real long face? She said the man – shoot, what was that stupid name? Larry? She said _Larry_ and Lisa seemed to know each other."

Nagourney made a face and tapped the table with two fingers. "Check. She was a tired, overworked employee who had an entire plane full of passengers to take care of. She probably spent thirty seconds total face to face with anyone that whole night. And what about the part where the girl _stabs him_ _in the throat_ with a pen? Didja forget about that? People who know each other don't normally haul off and do shit like that. I think she's innocent but ran because she was afraid she'd be criminally charged. A lot of people are afraid of the legal system. It's expensive and messy."

"She's a psychopath. What sane person stabs people with pens? Takes a twisted mind to get that desperate," Walter argued as he dropped more chips on the table after Hastings checked.

Nagourney grimaced at the raise and pushed his cards to the middle of the table. "Fold. We still have a lot of data filtering in. The missile fragments, the casing found partially sunk into Miami Beach, DNA sampling from the area of the plane in which they were seated, plus witness testimony and all the legal hoops we have to crawl through. It's gonna take a minute to get everything sorted through. This wasn't a get in-get out burglary. This was a planned operation that someone – several people – put lots of time and careful thought into. They covered their tracks well and it's going to take us a while to collect all the strings and unravel this mess."

Hastings matched the raise. Walter flipped over a fourth card on the table, a queen of diamonds. "I appreciate the eloquent metaphors, Nagourney, really, we all do, but this investigation does not have the luxury of finding the strings and 'unraveling' them. We already released a shitty statement to the press to get them off our backs, but tomorrow morning they'll be camped outside the doors of the Lux and the police station at second and fifth, and God knows they'll be ravenous for some headlines."

Hastings quietly tapped the table, indicating a check. Walter eyed Hastings and flicked the edges of his cards with his fingernails. "Raise. Two hundred."

"Call," Hastings replied. Walter flipped over the last card, a five of spades. Hastings passed to Walter, who clinked his chips several times before throwing six black disks in the middle of the table. "Six hundred to see my hand."

Hastings matched the chips without comment.

"Speaking of that missile, Hastings, there's a chance you'll get officially dragged into this whole business once we get those results. If it's foreign then that's technically your jurisdiction." Walter threw his cards face up on the table – a queen and a two. "Pair of queens."

Hastings chuckled good-naturedly. "I already feel like I'm officially involved. Can't be too much more work." He laid his pair of fives on the red felt. "Three of a kind."

"Got it on the river," Walter groaned while Hastings cleared the chips from the middle of the table with a calm smile.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Joe and Lisa's apartment was located in a faded, aged suburb of Cuidad Victoria. The building was tucked away on a quiet side street. Dusty stairs led up to a front porch that was so beautifully situated in the architecture it felt like a secluded balcony. A hammock was strung up in the shade. The apartment was cozy and clean, already furnished with worn but sturdy furniture. The front door opened into a living room that was attached to the kitchen. A short hall led to a bathroom flanked on opposite sides by two bedrooms. Storage space was carefully tucked in wherever it fit. The apartment windows overlooked a small plaza where merchants sold wares and food, and tan kids played baseball.

The two agents that had accompanied them from Orlando looked out of place and uncomfortable in their dark clothing and sunglasses. They made a cursory search of the apartment and helped Joe unload some boxes from the SUV. Their sleek designer vehicle pulled away onto the sandy road—and left.

And that was it.

She had been dumped in Mexico less than half a week after her life had been destroyed by the red eye flight.

For the first few days she and her father barely spoke, especially after their huge fight about Lisa using the name _Francisca_ 'just in case.' They alternated making meals. Lisa dutifully studied textbook Spanish and avoided going further outside than the shady porch.

One evening over a small dinner of tacos and Pepsi, Joe attempted to offer a truce. "Leese," he began, carefully pushing blobs of seasoned beef around his plate, "I'm leaving on a short day trip to Tampico early tomorrow morning. It's southeast of here, on the coast. Could be a great time. Would you like to come with me? See some different parts of the country?"

Lisa frowned. "Why are you going there?"

He tugged on part of his beard to mask his uneasy smile. "Well, it's a gorgeous city and one of Mexico's main ports. Lots to see and do, has a really cool bridge and great seafood. And, well.. I won't keep it from you, honey, but it's sort of paying back a favor to Jim."

Her fork clanged harshly against her plate after she dropped it in astonishment. "I knew it! They moved you down here so you could do their dirty work!"

"It's not like that. I'm just keeping tabs on stuff for the Company. It's harmless. It's my job."

"But you're retired!"

He grimaced and shifted in his seat. "I couldn't enjoy retirement down here, honey. So much free time, and there's no house to remodel anymore."

"Then how do you expect _me_ to cope with it?"

His tone became deeper, more firm. "Leese, come on! Would you have taken a job from Affague if he'd offered it to you?" He had. She'd said no. "What did you want me to do? I had to have something to keep me occupied. And instead of going after me why don't you head out tomorrow and find a way to keep yourself busy?"

Lisa stopped short. Had he really just turned the argument around on her like that? "I don't want to go to Tampico with you." Her voice was stony but she had to bite her lip to stop it from trembling. Joe just stared at her, the hard edge in his eyes softening, but they had already hit a wall with each other. She put her dishes in the sink and shut herself in her room.

Tears drifted down her face as she stumbled through happy memories of her father when she was younger… helping her pull out a loose tooth, taking off the training wheels on her first real bike, explaining that math was like a language and her proudly showing off the A she'd gotten on her quiz because it had finally made sense… But now, it seemed like he was willing to betray her no matter what happened. Causing her rape, selling her out to the Company, working for Affague again… he had been a stranger ever since that shocking revelation in his foyer.

Joe left early the next morning. Lisa sighed at her puffy eyes but decided to venture outside the apartment anyway. She vaguely thought getting a job would help her pass the time, and then she could refuse to spend any of the money Affague had given them. She found a café not far from her street and feebly tried to ask a waitress for directions to a hotel. "Umm.. el.. hotel-a? Where, uh, don-dey es uno hotel?"

The waitress smiled and seemed to understand her. She spoke slowly as she gave directions, enunciating each direction with a specific hand wave, but Lisa could barely keep up with her response. She had always had a knack for dealing with people but found that the language barrier was one she couldn't cross on hand motions and facial cues alone. It was a bewildering feeling. More than anything it irritated her.

Lisa Reisert had a challenge again, but more importantly she had something to keep her busy. For practice, she started translating the names of objects in the apartment. She practiced imaginary conversations in the mirror while she combed her hair after showering. She made an effort to smile and say "hola" to her neighbors.

Inexplicably, a young boy named Marco became her greatest teacher. He lived in the apartment below Lisa, with his _mamá_ and _abuela_. He was not prejudiced against her poor use of his native language, but instead thrilled to teach an adult something he knew so much about. It started with a simple question. "Que es la market?" Lisa had asked him one day in halting, broken Spanish.

Marco had looked at her as if she were an alien, although technically she sort of was. "Dónde está el mercado?" he'd asked in a tone of, is this what you're trying to say?

Lisa smiled in relief and nodded her head. "Yes. Si." The boy grabbed her hand and led her several streets away to a cluster of fresh produce stands, jabbering happily the whole time. Lisa was lost to the one-sided conversation, but glad to have such an enthusiastic friend.

She pointed to a piece of paper, on which she'd copied a dessert recipe in Spanish from a magazine, and pointed out the ingredients she hadn't been able to find around the apartment. Marco navigated through the stalls and repeated the names of each item as he dropped them in her basket. He was confused by the bland, green American dollars she fished out of her pocket to pay for everything, but the stall owners seemed happy enough to accept them and gave her change in small, gritty pesos.

She returned to her apartment and spent the afternoon baking the dessert, then brought the entire thing downstairs to Marco's family with a proud smile. A few days later, Marco brought her a plate of sopaipillas drizzled with honey. They spent a few hours talking and drawing pictures with thick, waxy crayons.

Eventually, Pepita, Marco's mother, hesitantly asked if Lisa could babysit him for a few hours twice a week. Pepita's elderly mother lived with them downstairs, and sometimes it was nice to have an energetic little boy out from under their feet. Lisa happily agreed and refused to take any money for it.

Joe was increasingly gone for longer stretches of time – day trips turned into overnight stays, and once he went to Mexico City for a week. Joe never asked her to accompany him, and Lisa didn't change her mind about going. They talked more amiably now, but she still held most of her feelings towards him in check. They were essentially two friends getting over a very damaging argument, except she often wondered if she could completely forgive him for everything he'd done to hurt her.

:o:

:o:

:o:

_A few months later…_

"Woman on line three for you, Affague. Her line is secure but she insists she'll only talk with you."

"I'm busy. This Miller contract is making my head bleed out through my ears. Tell her to piss off."

"Sir, you _really_ might want to take this call."

Affague hesitated, then growled and pushed some papers out of his way. "Fine," he snapped. "But unless it's the Russians my knife will personally find out what you had to eat for lunch today."

Neil just grinned at him and silently exited the office. Affague pressed a button and picked up the receiver. "What."

There was a pause and a slight breath on the other end of the line. "Mr. Affague?" a heavily accented voice asked. It sounded like Meester Off-a-jew. It pissed him off.

"Yes," he replied curtly.

"Hello, sir. My name is Ella. I am the person who wanted Keefe and his family destroyed."

Affague bolted up in his chair. So there was someone behind the Russians! "Well, Miss Ella, this is quite a revelation to me. The Russians' motives never quite seemed to line up."

"Yes, Mr. Offajew, they were meant to be a middle man. I occasionally have personal dealings with Mr. Keefe's office, so perhaps I was too paranoid about my privacy. I'm sure it hampered the outcome of the contract."

"There's no exact reason why the contract failed." Yes there was – and she was a little bitch whom he'd slapped on the wrist and sent to Mexico. "I understand that privacy is quite desirable when working with my field. That being said, what may I help you with today?"

"Before we talk, how can I know any personal information I give to you will not be compromised?" the woman persisted.

"Because I know you got your accent by working with a voice coach and that your real name almost certainly isn't Ella. However, my company has never had an information breach of any kind and you can be certain my real name is Affague." He stressed the pronunciation.

The line was silent but he had a feeling the woman was smiling. "Alright, Mr. Affague," she agreed, finally saying it correctly. "How much time will you need to develop a plan for a new hit on Keefe?"

"When do you need it done?"

"The sooner the better, I suppose, but I want you to take your time and make the hit foolproof. I don't care about his family anymore, I just want Keefe dead. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am. Would you like to renegotiate the price of your contract, or perhaps the method of payment?"

"No, that all stays the same," she snapped. "Are you still in control of that Reisert girl?"

"She's around, yes."

"May I suggest asking her some questions about Mr. Keefe. Being his hotel manager, she may have had access to some of his more rotten political skeletons. I will call back in one week. Have progress by then."

"Your contract is our first priority Ella. I'm going to transfer you to my associate. He'll help sort out some details and ask for a small amount of contact information – all guaranteed confidential until you request it to be destroyed. Is there anything else I can help you with? No? Then enjoy the rest of your day."

Saucy bitch, he thought as he ended the call and reset the security encryption. The woman had a good point about Lisa. Keefe made redundant reservations everywhere he traveled, but he usually stayed in the Lux Atlantic when he was visiting Miami. Affague had verified that fact personally. Lisa would be bound to know something forbidden about the politician – maybe an embarrassing personal habit or a messy drunken night downtown. Getting her to reveal it would be the hard part. He pressed a button on his phone for speed dial.

"Sir," a voice answered.

"Jackson. Go get her."

:o:

:o:

:o:


	9. Chapter 9

"Francisca! Franc-ee-sca!" a young voice called from outside her front door, accompanied by furious pounding that only energetic nine-year-olds were able to produce.

"_Entre, Marco!"_ Lisa called before the thin door splintered.

Marco sprang into the apartment with a battered rectangular box and set it proudly on the coffee table. "_Tengo un nuevo juego!_" He spoke quickly but Lisa was able to catch the gist of the sentence: I have a new game!

The box lid had seen far better times. One flap was torn off and water damage had warped the overall shape. The name of the game was partially obscured from where the cardboard had been ripped off. She pulled the box closer and suddenly had to bite back tears when she realized Marco had an ancient version of "Candyland."

Marco pulled out the creased game board and a few badly ripped cards. He spoke slower so it was easier for Lisa to translate: "Have you ever played it before Francisca? Is it fun?" Marco's face was bright and excited.

"I haven't played this one…" she lied, knowing that the game wasn't playable when it was missing so many pieces. "Let's make up our own rules, okay? Those are always so much better." It wasn't the first time she'd had to say that.

Marco's smile slipped a notch, but he nodded enthusiastically and began making a list.

Life in Mexico had fallen into a slow, mundane routine for Lisa. She watched Marco a few times a week and occasionally Pepita would send along a plate of food and tuck a copy of the recipe into Marco's pocket. Lisa's Spanish had improved considerably and she was able to partially read novels purchased from a local thrift store.

The horrors of the red eye flight had slowly begun to fade. She no longer dwelled on the overwhelming hate that had governed the mistakes she'd made.

The only time she had been directly reminded of the entire incident was at a small café where she'd taken Marco for lunch and ice cream. Voices were chattering in rapid Spanish from a small TV set on the bar. The color saturation was off and the newscaster's face was bright orange, but the effect wasn't as surreal as the images displayed on the screen. There was a video of a hotel on fire – her hotel, _her_ Lux Atlantic. Debris from an explosion littered the scene. Was this old footage from the original hit or had the Lux been targeted _again_?

"Marco, can you tell me what that lady is saying?" Lisa asked quietly in Spanish. She pointed at the screen and held her breath as he turned and studied the TV.

"A hotel in Florida got hit by a bomb two months ago," he chattered in loud Spanish. Lisa winced as his voice carried across the cramped room and turned a few heads. "A man and his family were the targets. They're okay. They still don't know who the bad guys are."

The broadcast showed a video of Keefe and his family emerging from the lobby entrance and climbing into a black SUV. A swarm of reporters and cameras were barely held back by security.

Marco turned to look at her, his back to the TV. "Do you know that man?" She heard the newscaster's accent butcher her name into something scary and ugly sounding. Seconds later Lisa nearly choked on her sandwich when her employee photo from the Lux Atlantic filled the entire screen.

It was like coming face to face with the ghost of a person she had killed. All the pain and guilt and stress from that night rushed to the surface with a terrifying clarity, and for a faint moment, staring at the image of her face on TV she saw _his_ face with those blue, blue eyes and wondered if she was going crazy.

"Francisca? Are you okay Francisca?" Marco had forgotten his ice cream, a treat he usually gulped down in seconds, and was staring at her with that unnerving look that kids had when it seems like they're looking straight into your secrets.

"I'm okay… I'm okay, Marco. Sorry. I don't feel well." That night she had barely slept, and for many nights afterwards she had run through a thousand different dreams where a growing blackness always followed her, always chased her through an endless row of seats where the people hid their faces and then vanished completely.

Lisa knew she would not live the rest of her life in Mexico, but somehow four dull months of her life slipped by in comparative quiet to the events that had sent her there.

And then one afternoon, Marco didn't come upstairs at his usual time. She waited fifteen minutes before she went downstairs and knocked. Pepita didn't answer the door. Maybe the grandmother was ill or Pepita had fallen asleep. She knocked again and the sound echoed in the space beyond. She vigorously knocked a third time and the force swung the door open. The latch hadn't been secured. Lisa understood why when she entered the apartment – it was completely bare.

She knocked on a neighbor's door. "Los Mungados?" she asked the man who answered.

He apparently had no clue, but his young wife chattered so fast Lisa could barely keep up. "Ahh, Francisca. Senora Mungado fell very ill yesterday and was rushed to Mexico City for treatment. Pepita packed and she and Marco left this morning. A cousin lives there, and Marco will go to a good school. I'm sorry, I thought she told you."

Lisa just nodded, knowing goodbye was out of her hands. She was sure the Company was behind the family's overnight disappearance. It felt too sneaky. She wondered if her father was reporting her actions back to Affague.

Lisa ascended the stairs back to her apartment, each heavy step making a decision until she reached the second floor, studied the empty hammock and her peeling front door and suddenly turned and stomped all the way back down to the street. She turned towards the east, where long shadows loomed in doorways and dusty windowsills. She couldn't let anyone – _anyone_ – take away the small piece of life she had fought so hard to find here in Mexico. Lisa Reisert did not give up that easily.

Her prodigious use of Spanish in the last four months had clearly made a difference with the locals. "_Dónde hay un hotel que está contratando?_" she asked a woman who lived a few houses away. The woman gave her directions, which Lisa followed without trouble. The motel owner must have been shocked to see a _gringa_ asking her for a job, but simply explained to come back early the next morning and she'd be put to work.

Working the front desk in the lobby of the sleek and polished Lux Atlantic was a far cry from changing sheets and scrubbing down showers in a tiny Mexican motel, but it was _her_ job, not something supplied by the Company. She stubbornly clung to any reminder of her life when it had been devoid of their stupid influence.

Sometimes she reviewed the events of the red eye flight and those brief days she had spent at the Company headquarters, but she never knew what details she was searching for or why she cared. She occasionally had confusing flashes of memories she didn't entirely remember. Screaming at Jackson in an elevator – when had she been in an elevator with him? – and strange fragmented visions of being thrown against a wall and Jackson's face, grim and unsmiling, and the whole world tilting in funny angles like she was cartwheeling down an empty hall.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa woke up early on her day off, only the second one she'd had since starting her job two weeks ago. She showered and slipped into a pale blue sundress, then propped open the front door with a potted plant so the hum of people on the street below filtered into the apartment. Joe had left a few days ago for a half-month jaunt – the longest trip he'd been assigned thus far. Lisa vaguely missed his company, which she'd been in sorry supply of ever since Marco had left. She hummed a cheerful variation of a song she'd recently heard on the radio as she rinsed off and dried some dishes and silverware from her solitary dinner the night before.

A brief shadow flickered across the doorway leading out to the shady porch – a tropical bird enjoying the last few minutes of a blessedly cool morning – and its exotic call lazily scolded whatever had disturbed its resting place. Seconds later, a second, larger shadow blocked the door. Distracted, Lisa glanced up from her chore and froze.

Jackson leaned casually against the doorframe as if he naturally belonged there. It felt as if gravity did a number on itself as all the blood in her body rushed in any direction it could go. She could only stare in motionless astonishment as he grinned at her and said, "Hi."

He was sharply dressed in a dark, form-fitting gray jacket worn over an off-white shirt. His hair was a shade longer but the arrogant grin was unchanged. He pushed away from the doorframe and stepped towards her. The slight movement made her flinch and drop a white plate she'd been drying. It flipped in mid-air and shattered across the tile floor. Lisa retreated from her place at the sink, unaware she was stepping on the broken pieces in bare feet. She distressed the damp towel with her hands.

"Jackson..." Lisa whispered, partially in awe but more in sneered anger. She'd meant to scream but the arresting shock of his presence was overwhelming. "Did Affague finally decide I'm too much of a liability? Are you here to finish the job you _failed_?"

"Depends what you mean by finish. Either way, you know you owe Affague your life."

"I don't owe him anything for only temporarily saving me. Did he banish me down here so you could show up and get rid of me at your convenience? Seems like a waste of everyone's time."

"Affague relocated you here as a personal favor out of respect for your father, Leese."

Besides Joe on rare occasions, Jackson was the only other person who'd called her by that nickname in a long time. The familiarity irritated her. "Don't call me that. Lisa disappeared four months ago. You _destroyed_ her."

"If we hadn't stepped in then, there wouldn't be a _Francisca_ today," he mocked. "And that's an awful name. I hope you didn't choose it."

"You of all people know that none of this was my choice."

His figure completely blocked the doorway of the small kitchen. Lisa started to back away but a hand that had been hidden gracefully in his pocket suddenly appeared and snatched her wrist.

She fiercely jerked her arm and tried to pry off his grip but he anchored her hand on the counter with his weight. "Quit it, Jackson!"

"Always fighting something, but somehow I don't think you care whether it's me or _yourself_." He hissed the last word, taunting her with his meaning, then blocked her slap with his free hand and laughed.

"I only fight back when someone provokes me!" she snapped.

"Funny, I just remember lots of _whining_ from you on the plane."

"Funny how you have that scar on your throat."

"Why don't we compare?" he suggested maliciously.

"Stop!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "Tell me what you came for so you can _leave_."

"Still stubborn I see," Jackson sighed, releasing her wrist. "You'll have to wait 'cause we're on a schedule. Where's your—"

In a flash, Lisa shoved him backwards and snatched a bowl out of the sink. He stumbled but recovered his footing in time for the heavy ceramic to shatter across his raised forearm.

Lisa ducked away from Jackson's reach and slid past him, yanking out chairs from the kitchen table. She heard a yell and a ferocious crash when the wood collapsed against the floor. She had to escape from Jackson and all the memories and hate he represented. Whatever his true purpose may be, Lisa knew his presence preceded another dark, downward spiral for her future.

The front door was still propped open and she bolted towards the sounds of civilization. Her body broke through the threshold and the wonderful feeling of fresh morning air enveloped her skin — just as she was brutally jerked backwards by a strong fist latched onto the fabric of her dress.

"Jackson!" she shrieked, one hand clawing desperately against the door frame while the other blindly tried to rake her fingers across his face. She felt her fingernails catch skin right when he yelled in pain, but as she spun to inflict more damage he used her momentum to swing her back towards the kitchen. She tripped over a downed chair and spun awkwardly, her spine striking the edge of the counter. Fire roared through her back and arms, erupting as a strangled sob of pain and fury. She reached backwards and groped for the knife she knew was in the sink.

Jackson roughly lifted her by her waist and forced her up and onto the counter. Her head was thrown back against the heavy wood cabinets and the impact slammed the blood out of her brain. Black mist hazed over everything. Lisa barely felt herself screaming bloodcurdling obscenities in his face. She groped for the knife but Jackson was leaning his weight on her hands to lock them in place, and she abruptly realized he was WAY too close—

"Get OFF!"

"Are you going for the knife again?"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Can't you ever be subtle about anything? Are you going to reach for that knife again?"

"NO!"

"Will you grab anything else that might cause me bodily harm?"

She didn't speak but glared at him heavily, panting slightly from exertion and pain. A heavy stillness fell over the apartment.

"God, you're a mess, Leese," Jackson said, a trace of pity coloring his tone. "What are you so scared of? Do you really think I came down here to hurt you?"

She didn't know. Maybe she didn't want to know. The lashing pain slowly cleared from her head while a nasty throbbing took its place. Her breathing wasn't entirely steady and the muscles in her back felt like they'd been beaten with a crowbar. She spread her fingers and folded them back together to encourage the blood flow. "Why else would you be here?" she replied after the first wave of prickles had passed.

"You have a big problem with yes-or-no questions." Jackson let go of her wrists and picked up the knife. He threw it into the air so it landed out of sight on top of the kitchen cabinets. Jagged red streaks crossed his skin and passed over his right eye. He was breathing a bit hard, and his pants were torn, but otherwise he looked completely intact. Lisa felt like shit.

"Seriously, Jackson. Your company ships me down here, calling it a favor the entire time, and leave me and my father stranded. Why are you showing up now?"

"To steal you," he grinned.

She shook her head, annoyed at his reference. "You're a few months late."

"I was recovering. A pen in your throat tends to disrupt your plans."

"I'd be happy to inconvenience you again."

"I'm afraid I'm the one doing that today. Get packed. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Her stomach sank several inches. "Where—"

"Back to Florida. Nine minutes."

"I'm not going anywhere without—"

"Joe will meet us there when he's finished his current assignment. Eight minutes."

"Stop interrupt—"

"Stop wasting my time."

Lisa fumed in silence, her chest heaving as a tangle of dread and anxiety clawed around inside her gut. She had no doubt they were returning to the Company Headquarters, but why hadn't her dad warned her? Did he not know? Had all this come up suddenly or was it part of a larger plan? And, strangest of all, why did the idea of going to Florida almost come as a _relief?_

The flight back with Jackson would be hell enough, let alone all the implied dishonesty waiting for her in Florida. She wasn't sure returning to the US was completely worth getting thrown back into the pit with the Company, but she had not settled well with the arid and foreign culture of Mexico. For the last two weeks she had a little less willpower to swing out of bed every morning, and was honestly scared of the day she didn't care to get up at all. Her existence was even less meaningful than it had been before, a fact that stung deeply. She briefly considered escaping again, once Jackson had let his guard down, but she knew fleeing into the myriad of lonely streets in Ciudad Victoria would be stupid and treacherous.

"Don't sit there like you have a choice. We're leaving and I have no problem forcing you to make the trip unconscious." Jackson quickly checked his watch. "Do you even want to bring anything with you? Doesn't look like you've accumulated much in four months."

The idea was appealing. She had been forced down here with nothing, so why not return the same way? It was an ironic and fitting end to her banishment in this strange country.

"Let's just go then," she said, not fully believing he'd make them leave right that second.

"Fine. We have a short walk to the car. Don't even think about making a scene."

Shit, he was serious. Lisa glanced around a final time, trying to dredge up an obligation to feel sorry for leaving. But besides a few fond memories with Marco, the apartment had simply been a place she lived, not her home. She sighed and had to blink back tears because her sudden meek compliance to the whole situation was frightening.

Jackson gripped her elbow and pulled her out of the apartment. He shut the door and locked it with a key that she knew wasn't hers or her father's and led her down the stairs. Lisa remembered the day Marco and his mother had disappeared and the ardent decision she'd made on these steps to not let anyone control the way she lived. And yet here she was, being dragged down those very same stairs towards a destiny not of her own choosing. The change was disheartening.

Jackson stopped at a taco vendor and ordered them food in Spanish. Compared to the locals she'd listened to, his accent was unquestionably authentic. Lisa was jealous of the way he managed to roll his "arrrs," as if he'd always lived down the street, across from the outdoor market. Jackson made some sort of joke with the vendor, an easy smile passing over his lips as he paid and led them away.

With a shock, she realized she was resentful of far more than his ability to speak Spanish. She envied the way Jackson naturally made himself fit in. If their circumstances had been switched, he would have enjoyed living in Mexico – probably made friends and explored the culture and come away from the whole crazy experience with lifelong memories. And what had she done for four months? Sulked, fought off repairing the relationship with her dad… and at the end of it all, of course it had to be Jackson who made her realize her mistake. He was right—she _was_ stubborn. Damn.

They turned down a few more streets and crossed into a part of the city that Lisa rarely visited. A sleek dark blue sports car lounged in the shade cast from a second story porch. Jackson hit a button on his key ring and the car chirped briefly. The engine roared to a start and quickly settled into an insistent hum.

Lisa hung back, suddenly nervous as hell about getting in the car with Jackson. The flight from Florida to Ciudad Victoria had lasted several hours, and here she was setting herself up for an exhausting trip back with him. On a plane, nonetheless. Ugh. But somewhere deep in her brain, she harbored an unrelenting curiosity that had been itching for the past four months. Maybe she could use the time to her advantage and get some answers.

_Stop over-thinking it, Lisa. Just get in the car._ It was irritating that her thoughts already sounded like Jackson. She settled into the tan leather seat and pulled the door shut.

Jackson was seated barely a foot away from her. If she rested her elbow on the center console, their arms would be touching. She folded her hands in her lap instead. Jackson pulled out of the back roads into steady, meandering traffic. They drove for a solid half hour without speaking. Lisa assumed the flow of cars would gradually lead them to the city's airport. The silence made her awkward and she fidgeted, readjusting her hands.

"You better get comfortable. We're gonna be driving for awhile."

"The airport isn't that much further," Lisa replied absently.

Jackson laughed quietly, a smirk on his lips. "I never said we were going to the airport."

"Well, how are we getting back then?"

Jackson's smirk grew wider.

"You don't mean—wait, Jackson… we're _driving_ to Florida?"

"It's not that far."

"It's at least a thousand miles!"

"Only two days. You don't even have to drive. You just get to sit there."

"I thought we were _flying_! I would have packed some clothes if I knew I'd be sitting in a car for that long!"

"Calm down. We'll be in Orlando tomorrow evening."

"And I'll still be stuck in this dress until then!"

"I have the strange impression that even if we stopped somewhere to get you clothes, you would refuse to buy anything."

Lisa bit her lip, a little embarrassed that he was right.

"Because that's what I'm offering. I know the owner of a designer boutique in Houston. We could be there in eight hours."

She stalled heavily, trying to come up with any reason to refuse. "I don't have any money."

"I'll pay for everything."

Lisa mentally rolled through more excuses but couldn't come up with anything compelling enough to refuse.

"If you don't get anything today, I'll go out on my own and buy you all of the most low cut shirts I can find." His meaning wasn't lost on her.

Her hand curled protectively against the fabric covering her scar. "You are so _rude!_"

"It's your choice, Lisa."

"Right. _My choice_. Like everything else that's happened to me." She sunk deeper into the seat and scowled out the window. A sudden thought crossed her mind: he had revealed the Company headquarters were in Orlando. "So why are we—"

"Don't ask why we're going to Orlando or I'll stuff you in the trunk."

"What about my father?"

"Did you two finally settle your differences?" Jackson countered.

"Did I forgive him for being a crook, you mean? No, in fact our differences are still very much unresolved."

"Your father wasn't a crook, Leese. A crook implies you rip people off or cheat them. Joe was simply a very good businessman."

"He cheated people out of their lives."

"Technically no, he didn't. Helped arrange it, but there's a big difference between signing paperwork and pulling the trigger."

"Not to the law. It's all for the same purpose. It's disgusting."

"You worked for a place that rents out beds for people to fuck on. I think that's disgusting."

His phrasing threw her off. "It's a hotel! I couldn't control what my guests did at the Lux inside their private rooms!"

"But it's still gross that you rent out the same space and never clean it that thoroughly."

"Not more revolting than killing people."

"Depends on who you ask."

"Do you have a point to all this?"

"Only that the opinions you have so rigidly fixed into good and bad have far more gray than you think. It's all a matter of opinion. Who are you to pass such harsh judgment on those of a different viewpoint? I thought you were a liberal. Where's your tolerance?"

"You're crazy! Encouraging empathy for… well, for example gay people is not at all comparable to tolerating people who think cold blooded murder is okay!"

"It was acceptable to the Romans. The Coliseum says it all. They thought it was entertaining."

"Society is more sophisticated now."

"And the Romans weren't sophisticated in their day? Their views on homosexuality were certainly more lenient. C'mon Leese, even you can't argue against that."

"This is ridiculous. You're trying to convince me that murder shouldn't be seen as a morally reprehensible act. It'll take a hell of a lot longer than a two-day drive to change my mind about something like that."

Jackson gave her a dark, thoughtful look. "Give me two hours and I could change your mind about anything I wanted."

Her spine tingled and she stiffened in her seat, looking steadily at Jackson while he drove. "You didn't change my mind on the plane," she challenged, forcing herself to not turn away. But once she was confronted by a flash of his startling blue gaze she blinked and lowered her eyes to her clenched hands, out the window, away from him.

"But I still convinced you to do something against your will. No one would blame you. It was in your best interests at the time."

"You cheated," she muttered.

Jackson saw the subtle curve of her mouth and realized she was pouting. He snickered quietly. She twisted to face him with flashing eyes. "What."

"You're so noble. It's kind of cute how you don't even notice it."

"What?" she repeated, exasperated.

"I cheated? On the plane? That's not the first time you've accused me of that. Cheating implies I had some sort of outside assistance, but as far as I know my words and my actions on the plane were the lone factors driving you to make that call. So how was I cheating? Who was helping me?"

"Affague!"

"How? By calling every five minutes and annoying the piss out of me?"

"Well, then my father!" she retorted, but knew too late that Jackson had expected that answer.

"Wrong. If you had bothered to swap notes you would know that Joe was mad from the beginning about our interference in your life. He'd already caused enough trouble for you personally."

Ugh, don't remind me of _that_, Lisa groaned mentally

"The only thing he gave me was his wallet. I was completely on my own after that."

"His wallet did the job, didn't it? So what does it matter!"

The silence hung for a moment. Lisa assumed she'd won their argument, but was reminded a moment later that winning was never that simple with Jackson Rippner.

"You want to know something that most targets never find out?"

And now _she_ was the silent one, refusing to indicate that he could distract her so easily.

"Most targets never find out how difficult they were to break. They'll think back months later and feel bad but tell themselves it was the _pressure_ and they were only acting as the situation dictated… when in reality they were easier to snap than uncooked spaghetti. The Company's role is to find, and in some cases convince, people we need to trade favors with. We go the extra step and orchestrate the timing to our advantage."

Lisa pressed her lips together and looked out the window. She didn't like where this was going.

"A lot of the time our agents can get what they want – information, cooperation, whatever – with relative ease. Cash is the easiest way to get things done. To a harassed, underpaid security guard, leaving a backdoor unlocked for a quick hundred bucks is an easy decision. But it's worth paying him five hundred to make sure he does it on the right day, at the right time.

"Sometimes contracts are harder. Last year we were hired to publicly reveal a corrupt CEO's fraudulent business dealings. We decided his ex-personal assistant was the easiest person to break because they'd had an affair several years before. She was already rich and successful. Money was boring to her. But our Company still needed a favor from her, and since we knew we couldn't bargain with cash we had to come at it from her perspective – what is she unhappy about in her current situation? What's her problem – her breaking point – and how can we offer a solution?

"And it's my job to figure that out. I track people to find that breaking point, to offer an exchange of favors right when it's most useful to the Company. And I'm fucking good at it, Leese. I listen to what people say and what they don't say. I read what they think and what they don't even know they're thinking. I have access to the weirdest, most intimate details about people whom I've never met face to face.

"A successful businessman gave us copies of important legal documents in exchange for a free trip to rehab and a clean police record. Favors don't even have to be corrupt. An old woman spilled everything she knew about a target because she had been his babysitter for ten years. The target had originally been a client of ours but decided not to pay his balance. In those situations, our methods of revenge are often… ironic. The old lady revealed that the target avoided deep water because he had a phobia of drowning. You can guess how the bastard died. The old woman didn't even realize she was trading favors. All she wanted was some company.

"But that personal assistant? Turns out the CEO had been threatening her with blackmail since the affair to keep her quiet. She wanted revenge without fear of repercussions. She wanted us to convince the CEO's wife to divorce him, and gave us access to his laptop in exchange. A few days later, we mailed photocopies of the guy's numerous illegal business deals to every news station on the west coast. We also had a video of him crying and begging his wife not to divorce him for cheating. We sent that to all the tabloid magazines. The guy was toast.

"The assistant wrote a book about the whole thing, leaving out our involvement of course, and made millions off the media blitz purely from being selfish and immature. A real piece of trash. And I knew she was without once interacting with her in person. But I read it, Leese. I read her like a book, and it was so damn easy. People say more than they realize, and you just have to figure out how to interpret it. Like a second language, I suppose."

He fell quiet for a moment. Lisa was afraid to speak—to breathe. She realized she'd been gripping the armrest hard enough to turn her fingers white. Her hand stuttered as she placed it back in her lap.

Jackson slid one palm to the bottom of the wheel and dropped the other to his lap. He leaned further back into his seat.

"I tailed you for eight weeks, Lisa. Not the longest I've ever kept tabs on someone, but it sure as hell felt like it. Every week – every day was the same. Work, random errands, talk to your dad, home. Rinse and repeat. Throw in an occasional Seabreeze on Fridays, but only during happy hour. By the end of eight weeks I thought I knew you better than Joe did. So when the original plan got canned and Affague asked me to get on that plane with you, I had never expected a hit to go smoother. Threaten dad, you make a phone call, done. How fucking hard could that be?"

He locked eyes with her, his gaze smoldering with a deep range of emotions that Lisa couldn't even begin to put together. "But you were good, Leese. Somehow in those eight weeks I completely missed the fact that when you put your mind to it you're a determined, stubborn little freak. No trace of it for two months when you were on autopilot – but the second you encountered a threatening experience you dealt with the pressure better than some agents I've seen in the CIA. Hell, better than some of our agents at the Company.

"You refused to lose ground against me. You forced me to start swapping favors early. Buying you a drink, allowing you to call Joe… I was granting you power by doing those things. I couldn't figure out where all this damn resistance was coming from. I thought you would handle conflict the same way you dealt with hotel customers – just make them happy so they'll leave you alone and not threaten to sue.

"And then I let you go to the bathroom and make a mess in there. That pissed me off so bad I had to literally knock some sense into you – and when I saw that damn scar – Christ, Leese, the way you looked at me – you knew I had you in a fucking corner and yet you _still_ lied straight to my face.

"You are undoubtedly one of the most difficult, complex targets I've ever worked with. Unpredictable factors mean death in my business, and I just had to go and hit the jackpot. I know your father means the world to you, but you resisted a consistent barrage of threats against his life and fought for Keefe – a man you barely know – with a dedication and ferocity that was unlike anything I've ever had to break. And that's a compliment, even if you refuse to see it that way."

"You didn't break me, Jackson," Lisa hissed, finally feeling the conversation was back in a place where she had footing.

"Yes I did. Even if it was only for a moment."

"What are you getting at? What are you trying to make me understand by telling me all of this?"

He didn't immediately reply, like the outpouring of emotions had swept him far away from his original point. "My initial impression of you was so far off it irreparably derailed the hit, yet I learned from my error quickly and admitted I was wrong. You are making the same mistake but you're too closed-minded and stubborn to admit it. This is the one time I'll warn you directly. You should take a step back and rethink this Company and how it operates, because at the moment we are your only allies and the length of your existence relies quite heavily on how well you cooperate with us."

"Is that a threat, you asshole?"

"Leese, it's a promise."

:o:

:o:

:o:


	10. Chapter 10

Lisa wanted to explode from the car in any direction possible. Their conversation had abruptly ended after Jackson's blunt warning and the tension had been unyielding since then. It was made worse by her being the only one in distress. Jackson was comfortably brooding somewhere deep inside his thoughts as he drove, while she was agonizing in nearly every way imaginable. She was worried about her father, her future and her common sense. She had a headache. She needed to pee. But her stubbornness prevailed as she tried not to cough or sigh or even breathe too loud because she didn't want to give Jackson any reason to speak to her.

Lisa didn't know if there were speed limits on Mexican highways, but apparently Jackson wasn't too concerned about it as he whizzed along in the left lane at a solid 95 miles per hour. Distant features of the landscape drifted along slowly on the horizon while closer objects – cacti, cars, ramshackle mobile homes – soared past her window in a flash of reflected color and sunlight.

A plan had slowly begun forming in the back of her mind over the past two hours. While fleeing from Jackson would have been stupid in Ciudad Victoria, the idea might actually be viable once she was back in the United States. She had been missing for over four months now and was probably presumed dead by a majority of the population. People who were sucked into political assassinations didn't commonly live through it.

But if she actually managed to escape Jackson, would she be able to find help? Would people believe her? The police would undoubtedly show up, which would lead to questions about the hit, and then the Company, and after that her dad…

She discreetly studied Jackson's mute form, silently wondering what small miracle it would take to escape someone like him.

Jackson caught her looking at him for a moment too long, and his eyes – electric blue in the sunlight – fastened onto hers and seemed to pull her thoughts directly out of her brain.

"Stop trying to plan something, Leese," he said, looking back to the road. "And that's not a suggestion."

Shit. Why was she so transparent to him? "Can we stop? I need to use the restroom," she replied, trying to innocently cover her tracks.

"Why, so you can soap up some mirrors like last time?"

"You can check the bathroom after I'm done." He looked skeptical. "Don't be so paranoid," she said with a subdued sigh. "I'm not going to try anything."

It hadn't occurred to her that Jackson was worried about her high-tailing it while they were still in Mexico. However, she didn't dare hope it meant he'd relax his guard once they were back in the US.

Their stop was less than brief. Jackson had already bought two bottles of water and a large bag of gummi worms by the time she left the bathroom. She didn't miss his quick, roving gaze over every surface of the room.

"You forgot to check the back of the door," she said in mock seriousness.

"If you're that determined to deface a public restroom then I'm not going to stop you."

Within minutes, they were miles away from the gas station. Jackson offered her the bag of gummi worms but she felt weird about _sharing_ something with him and shook her head no.

They rode in silence awhile longer until Jackson switched on the radio. The car was fully equipped with a CD player and Sirius receiver, yet he inexplicably preferred to surf the local radio stations as previous ones fell out of range. She asked why, and he replied, "I can listen to Sirius anywhere. When's the next chance I'll have to listen to a real Mexican radio station?" And disturbingly enough, Lisa couldn't find an argument against that.

"So how long were you in town this time?" she asked sarcastically, referring to his long weeks of surveillance in Miami.

"Got in late last night," he replied, one hand carelessly smoothing across his jaw. Lisa noticed his chin had a faint sheen of stubble.

"Did you sleep in the car?"

"Yes, because for some strange reason you decided to get a job at the closest motel, and with your workaholic tendencies my instinct told me not to risk staying there. Which is why I'm looking forward to air conditioning and a mattress tonight."

"You're an assassin. Aren't you trained to ignore pain?"

His jaw flexed in irritation. "Manager," he sighed. "And you're forgetting the countless nights I spent tailing you in Miami. You don't think I slept in my car then?"

For some reason, his reference to the one-sided history they shared before the red eye flight made her flinch. It had been such a blatant invasion of privacy, yet she'd remained unaware of his presence the entire time. Either she had been unusually oblivious or Jackson was very good at his job. She strongly suspected it was the latter.

"Guess I never thought about it," she murmured uneasily.

Jackson didn't reply, distracted by a brilliant glare from the windows of the SUV ahead of them. He reached into the center console and pulled on a shiny metal pair of aviators.

He frowned when he saw the smirk on Lisa's face. "What?"

"Of course you would have designer sunglasses."

"You can tell?" he asked, sounding oddly impressed.

"It was easier to know how well to treat someone at the Lux depending on how much their accessories cost."

A partial smirk formed on his lips. "I always break the cheap ones. And I feel remarkably more arrogant with 300 dollars resting on my face."

"Would you happen to have a second pair so I can be remarkably arrogant too?"

Jackson pointed at the glove box. "In there. There should be another pair," he replied in all seriousness.

"I was joking," Lisa muttered, but opened the compartment anyway. A hard case was right inside, and she donned the black Versace sunglasses it contained. She rustled through the rest of the contents and pulled out two receipts. "A footlong from Subway and the Lord of the Rings trilogy rented from Blockbuster. That must've been a long day."

"Night, actually. It was long for you, too."

Lisa checked the dates. They were six months old, probably right when Jackson had started tailing her. She tried to remember what had happened that particular day but digging through memories of her former life still stung. "What happened?"

"One of your guests had to go to the ER. I never found out the specifics but she didn't have medical coverage and was threatening to sue the Lux since the accident occurred on the hotel grounds. Cynthia called you in to make nice with her."

"That _was_ a crappy night," she reflected. The woman had been acting inappropriately in the hotel's hot tub when she slipped and had a small concussion. She had been thornier than Mr. and Mrs. Taylor combined. It had been the day before she accidentally overheard… Lisa forced the thought out of her mind. _Don't add that to your list of worries._

Feeling nosy again, she pulled the owner's manual out of the glove compartment and found Jackson's registration inside.

"I'm glad I cleaned the dead bodies out of there yesterday," Jackson mocked.

"Richard Dallas?" she read off the piece of paper. "Who is that?"

"Me." Jackson shifted so he could grab his wallet out of his back pocket. He withdrew a driver's license and handed it to her. The picture resembled Jackson but wasn't exactly him. Someone had manipulated the photo so he looked older and fatter.

"So, you own this car? Not Affague, or the Company?"

"No, Richard Dallas owns the car. But it was paid for with my bonus from last year."

"How many fake identities do you have?"

"A few. Maybe a few more when I'm working on a complicated assignment. But Jackson is my real name."

"Is Rippner your real last name?"

"It's real enough."

"Did you really kill your parents?"

He laughed, genuinely amused. "I knew that would bother you. What do you think?"

Lisa chewed her lip, seriously considering the question. "I don't think you did it personally, but you definitely had a hand in it," she guessed.

"Half right. I didn't set it up intentionally. They were killed vacationing overseas. I gave them the plane tickets as an anniversary present."

"I'm sorry," Lisa said automatically, although she was sure he didn't really care.

Sure enough, he shrugged and tucked the Richard Dallas license back in his wallet. "Part of life is death. A fact I'm more than used to."

Sometime around noon they crossed into the United States. As Lisa expected, Jackson had some sort of prior arrangement with the border guards and his car was waved past without question.

Several hours later, they were wrapping northeast along the gulf coast towards Houston, eventually taking highway 59 straight into downtown. The late afternoon sun washed the skyscrapers in yellow, orange and pink – shining pillars of light against the darkening blue sky.

Jackson retrieved his cell from his front pocket and tapped out a number on the keypad. "Clint, you still at work?" he asked after a voice had answered. "Okay, see you soon." Lisa assumed Clint was the owner of the clothes boutique he had mentioned earlier. Was Jackson really serious about stopping here?

He pulled off the highway, deftly navigating the evening traffic until he parallel-parked on a street lined with classy restaurants and glowing bars. Lisa glanced at the time displayed on the dashboard – it was already after seven. What clothing store would still be open at this hour?

"Why couldn't you just get my clothes from my apartment in Miami?"

"Because the CIA is waiting for us to do something stupid like that. I guarantee they've been watching your place ever since the flight."

"Well, now I know how to get free house sitting when I go on vacation," she muttered with an annoyed frown.

Jackson laughed as he climbed out of the car, and for a startling moment she was directly reminded of the first time they'd met. The charming stranger had abruptly been replaced by the daunting man she now knew, but at times that compelling friendliness drifted through his demeanor and affected Lisa more deeply than she cared to admit.

She stepped out of the car into the warm evening, self-consciously hugging her arms as a trendy couple laughed their way past her on the sidewalk. They were clearly enjoying a fond memory that had nothing to do with her, but suddenly her oversized blue sundress felt disturbingly out of place in urban America.

She thought briefly about her plan to escape once they'd crossed the border. This was certainly a good location to make a scene, but her wavering hesitation held her back. Their close proximity to alcohol would make it easy for Jackson to convince strangers that Lisa had simply had too much to drink. Besides, no one would willingly assume responsibility for some random, screaming girl when they were trying to enjoy their evening out on the town.

Jackson led them to a nearby storefront with floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a small space directly behind the glass that displayed head-less models in a range of airy, static motions. The female models were dressed in trim, elegant blouses and pants, which the male models complemented with a variety of snappy, edgy suits. A black wall directly behind the figures blocked any view further into the store.

"Clint is… friendly. Just go with it. And don't you dare laugh if he tries to hit on me," Jackson warned as he held the door open for her.

The small store was dim, with bright tracklights illuminating the stunning variety of clothes hung on all four walls. A stylishly dressed man appeared from the back of the room. His dark, roughed up jeans and tailored white shirt fit impeccably, matched by his carefully spiked blond hair and mischievous smile.

"Jackson, great to see you again!" the man greeted loudly, his voice cordial and slightly high-pitched. He patted Jackson's shoulder and turned to Lisa. "And who is this?"

"This is Lisa. She—"

"Lisa!" Clint immediately interrupted, taking her arm and drawing her deeper into the store. "You are going to fall in love with the fabric I'm about to put on your skin. You have a fantastic complexion. Did you make your dress?"

Bewildered by the pace of the conversation, Lisa clutched a handful of the worn fabric in her hands. "Um, well no, I didn't. But I'm sure it was handmade."

"Maybe for a fatty. Your figure is drowning in all that cheap cotton."

Lisa blinked and looked over at Jackson, who was obviously hanging back for a reason. He shrugged and told her, "He even insults the clothes he's sold me. There's no winning with him."

"Jackson!" Clint scolded. "Everything in fashion goes out of style at some point. You just have to get over it and buy a new wardrobe." He shook his head at Lisa. "Obviously still in denial. Now Lisa, what do you think about this?" Clint held up a dark green blouse with an obscene amount of beading along the neckline.

"Well, um… I like the color…"

"You mean you hate it. How about this?" He pointed at a peacock blue tanktop made out of silk.

She grimaced slightly, teeth delicately biting her lip. "I think I'd prefer shirts that weren't so…" She gestured helplessly at the neckline. "So low cut?"

Clint stared at her with a blank expression before spinning towards Jackson and crying, "Jackson, where did you _find_ her? She's so _cute_." He whirled back to face Lisa, hand sincerely pressed against his heart. "I swear there are no modest ladies left west of the Mississippi." He continued chattering as he dragged them to a different part of the store and shortly had a mound of clothing piled high on both arms.

"Here, try all these on and tell me what you think," he told her, unexpectedly dumping the mass of fabric over her shoulder and ushering her through a black door. "Quick quick quick!" he called as slammed the door and walked away snapping his fingers.

The dressing room reminded her of a private booth at a fancy restaurant. A delicate chandelier evenly lit the small space, making the ornate Victorian wallpaper gleam gold. Two large mirrors with unique gilded frames hung on opposite walls. There were no other furnishings besides a row of brass hooks and a small black leather bench in the far corner.

Lisa sorted through the pile of clothing, amazed at the range of tasteful shirts, dark jeans, blazers, wide-legged pants, scarves and dresses. The overall style was similar to the professional wardrobe she had worn at work, but the cut and fabrics were of substantially higher quality.

The door opened slightly and several pairs of shoes were thrown onto the carpet. "Jackson said you wore a size seven," Clint said. "And if you don't know where to start, just get naked first and put on whatever looks most fabulous. Shit, I'm missing Alton Brown!" She blinked as the door slammed shut again.

Lisa hesitantly pulled off the old sundress and for a moment stood embarrassed in her dingy bra and underwear. Her scar looked muted and harmless in the soft light. She reached over and locked the door.

The first thing she slipped on was a sleek pair of black pants. Lisa marveled at the satin lining that felt cool against her legs. The price tag was three figues. She had shopped for clothes at upscale stores before, but to her this was luxury that bordered on ridiculous.

She inspected a high-necked coral colored shirt, held together in the back by four graceful straps secured with small gold hoops. It was pretty, and she had to start somewhere. Lisa pulled it over her head and completely missed all the proper holes where her limbs were intended to go. She retracted one of her arms and tried to remove the shirt so she could start over, but moments later was again hopelessly tangled in the straps. The sound of thread tearing stilled her movements entirely.

"Clint!" she called. _He's gay_, she thought sternly when her brain automatically started to worry. _It's no big deal._ She unlocked the door when Clint knocked and turned back to the mirror, exasperated from her losing battle with the fabric.

But instead of the gay boutique owner, it was Jackson's familiar face that appeared in the mirror behind her. "Need help?" he asked with a wicked smile.

After a moment of frozen shock, her hands exploded in several directions at once as she covered herself and spun to push Jackson out of the room. "Get out of here! What are you doing!"

"Wondering what was taking you so long. And since I'm paying for everything I should get to see it."

"No, I don't think you should!" she refuted, aiming a kick at his kneecap so he'd back up. "You can see it all on the receipt in fifteen minutes."

Jackson laughed and shielded her kick with the door. "I'll tell Clint to get you some bras too," he told her with a pointed look at her chest. "White is so matronly."

He had wisely already slammed the door when she screamed, "GET OUT!" and hurled a shoe at it. There was a meek knock several seconds later.

"That better be you, Clint or so help me…"

"Hun, it's me." After she let him in, he took in the tangled shirt and her dismayed expression and had to visibly fight back a laugh. "I ducked in the back for my Alton Brown fix and here you two are trying to have sex in my dressing room."

_If you only knew_, Lisa thought as Clint unwound two knotted straps and easily lifted the garment up over her head.

"You really do have a great figure. So slender, just like Jackson."

Lisa couldn't help the weird thought that crossed her mind. "Have you and him…" She trailed off, unsure whether the question sounded jealous or ridiculous.

"God, I wish," Clint replied, missing her intensely thoughtful look while he handed her a second round of outfits. "No, I just took _very_ precise measurements to tailor his suits. He definitely doesn't play for my team, sweetie."

"Don't you find this a little bizarre?" she asked quietly. "Him calling you out of nowhere and knowing my shoe size and buying me an entirely new wardrobe?"

"Honey, I learned to stop asking questions with Jackson a looong time ago. The man is sexy but you're better off getting straight answers from a fortune cookie. Oh, he mentioned I should bring you some undergarments. Be back in a minute!"

Ten minutes later, Lisa was glaring at Jackson as he handed over a credit card and exchanged cheerful banter with Clint. A small army of shopping bags were scattered around her on the floor, along with a white leather suitcase that held a few changes of clothes.

Since her sundress had 'mysteriously' disappeared during the clothing fiasco, she was now wearing a loose green shirt and slim, dark jeans.

Clint gave her a warm hug that she couldn't help but return. "Lisa, it was truly my pleasure. It's not often I get to dress a beautiful lady from head to toe. Jackson, you take good care of her!"

"Always my priority," he replied smoothly.

"It better be, or else I'll leave pins all through the next suit you order from me."

"Your customer service is off the charts, Clint."

"Feel free to come back for my _service_ anytime," he said with a saucy grin, throwing a conspiratorial wink at Lisa.

They left the shop loaded with bags. Jackson pressed the unlock button on his car fob and fit everything into the car's compact trunk next to his own small suitcase.

Jackson U-turned out of the parking spot and they were on the highway again shortly. Once they'd escaped the city traffic, he looked over and quickly appraised her new outfit.

"I liked the other shirt better."

"If you ever walk in on me again, I'm hiring my father to kill you."

"I know you at least had fun. Women always like shopping."

"I don't think I need to look this fashionable hanging around the headquarters."

"Can't hurt, right?"

She shook her head. "You're being too nice to me. You want something. What is it?"

"I can't do anything nice for my favorite boss's only daughter?" He chose to play around with her words rather than take her seriously, which only made her more suspicious.

"No, you can't, because it freaks her out."

"For now, assume you just got a slew of brand new clothes for free with no strings attached. Quite a step up from yesterday, you know."

"Seriously, why did you do this for me?"

His face sobered at her persistence. "Because if Affague had taken care of your wardrobe, every single piece of clothing would have a tiny GPS tracker stitched into it. How's that for invasion of privacy?"

Lisa huffed skeptically and folded her arms. "I'm not _that_ important. He wouldn't bother with all that just to keep tabs on me."

"You don't know him."

"Then why did you go through all this trouble? If I had all that crap embedded in my clothes it'd be even easier for you to stalk me."

"So quick to flatter yourself, Leese. I hate to destroy your little fantasy but my life doesn't revolve around tracking your every move."

"It did for eight weeks."

"I was paid to do it."

"I should be paid for having to deal with you two days in a row."

"Then consider your clothes adequate compensation so we can stop talking about this."

Lisa bit her cheek in frustration and turned away. She leaned her head against the window, hoping she would eventually fall asleep. Numerous plans of escape drifted through her thoughts over the next few hours. Once Jackson stopped somewhere for the night, she could burst out of the car and most likely make it inside the hotel before he was able to stop her. The front desk person could call the police… but then what? The three of them would sit around patiently until the cops showed up? Yeah, right. Jackson would catch up to her, drag her back to the car and no doubt kill whoever got in his way. She played it out in her mind a dozen different ways, but every scenario ended with lots of blood.

Late at night, Jackson pulled off the highway somewhere in Louisiana. The town surrounding the exit was relatively urbanized, hosting a collection of fast food restaurants and a Walmart in the distance. Jackson parked outside a hotel tucked back from the road behind a small grove of trees. Lisa's neck ached from leaning against the window but she stayed still to feign sleep.

"C'mon, Leese. We're stopping here."

Her stomach shriveled in fear at his words. Her plan would only work if Jackson headed toward the back of the car to retrieve their luggage. She heard Jackson's door open and shut, and barely slitted her eyes to watch for her chance to escape. He turned left and vanished out of her view. She tightened her grip on the handle and started to jerk it open—but suddenly his dark shadow approached her side of the car, and she simultaneously heard the click of the handle and felt the door give way underneath her head. She pulled back with a sharp gasp so she wouldn't spill out and dash her head on the pavement.

Jackson's eyes were hooded and distrustful. "I know you heard me the first time. Let's go."

She grumbled under her breath and got out of the car. She was mad at herself for being a wimp but directed the anger entirely towards Jackson, who handed her the white suitcase from the trunk. "Play nice for the next ten minutes," he warned, guiding her towards the lobby with a firm grip on her arm.

She was sulking heavily as they entered the hotel. Jackson tugged her closer and her sulk turned into a snarl.

"Let go—"

"Shut up, Leese," Jackson muttered into her hair, disguising it as a kiss for the benefit of the young man at the front desk.

"Hello folks, how can I help you?" he asked, sounding too cheerful this late at night.

Lisa tuned him out while Jackson paid for their room. The stupid teenager was supposed to be calling the police right now, not smiling and kissing butt to the most manipulative person in Lisa's life.

"What's your check out time?"

"Eleven a.m. at the latest, sir."

Jackson slipped a fifty out of his wallet and slid it across the counter. "Make it one-thirty."

"Easily done, sir."

Show-offs.

They took the elevator up two floors and wandered through the silent hallways to their room. Two beds, thank god. There was a sink and counter along the back wall and a door that led into the bathroom. The two windows on one wall overlooked a pool and hot tub.

Jackson hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign outside and shut the door.

Lisa placed her suitcase on the bed farthest from the door and sat next to it. After being forced to sit in the car all day, she felt restless and out of place. "Why aren't we staying at some sort of Company safe-house?"

"Because the closest one is in Baton Rouge and it's already being used by another agent."

"So why aren't we staying at some cheap, rundown motel like they do in the movies?"

Jackson reclined on his bed and idly channel surfed on the TV. "Because motel owners are sketchy and they'll spy on their guests if it means an extra twenty bucks in their pocket. And since we're not on the run from the cops, staying here is less suspicious."

Lisa flopped back on the scratchy comforter. Several minutes passed as she repeatedly switched positions, trying to get comfortable on the mattress, until Jackson abruptly sat up and snatched her suitcase off her bed.

"What are you doing?" she cried indignantly.

"Where's your swimsuit?" he asked while unzipping the sides.

"I don't have one!"

"Yes you do. I bought a black one for you."

He started to dig under a pair of jeans where she'd packed her underwear. "Stop," she choked. "Try the side pocket. No – no. The other side."

Jackson pulled out a black one-piece and threw it next to her on the bed. "Put it on."

"Shut up."

"Seriously. Go change."

"Where are we going?"

"The hot tub. Quit complaining about everything."

"I wasn't!"

"You were about to. Go change."

"I'm not getting in."

"Then don't. Wear a sweatshirt. I don't care. But I'm not leaving you up here alone."

"Fine," she snapped. "But I'm not putting that on."

"Then I'll go get changed," he replied easily, grabbing a t-shirt and a dark pair of swim trunks from his suitcase and heading to the bathroom.

Five minutes later they found the door that led to the pool. The air chilled her skin when she stepped outside. The hot tub and pool were empty, probably because it was almost two in the morning. Hidden lights set into the ground around the perimeter of the patio illuminated lush plants and palm trees. The rough concrete was cool underneath her bare toes when she removed her sandals.

The hot tub was circular, set into the ground and lit with calming blue lights. Lisa sat down by the edge and rolled up her pants. She dipped her feet into the steaming water and forced her gaze away from Jackson when he lithely stripped off his shirt and sank into the water opposite her.

He hissed a faint curse at the sudden contrast in temperature. He dunked his head underwater and pulled his dark hair away from his face. With his hair slicked back and the blue light accentuating his cheekbones, he could have been a Calvin Klein model in another time and place. The thought scared her a little, partially because she'd just indirectly admitted he was attractive, but more because the contrast between an underwear model and Jackson was a huge knife and a whole lot of blood. The bad attitude was probably a pretty close match.

Her tense thoughts must have reflected on her face, because after awhile Jackson said, "Try to relax, Leese. It might be the last chance you get for awhile."

"Relaxing is difficult for me while you're anywhere nearby."

"Thank you for the compliment."

Annoyed by his ego, she glanced away and changed the subject. "What's gonna happen once we're back in Orlando?"

"You're going to give us information. And if you don't, it will be unpleasant."

Her surprise lasted for only a moment, and quickly morphed into a scathing glare. "You guys are going after Keefe again," she accused, her defenses and temper rising by the second.

Jackson lifted his arms to rest on the edge of the hot tub. "You just made life a lot more difficult for yourself, Leese."

"For _me?_ What about Keefe?"

"Don't worry about Keefe. He's dead either way. Your primary concern should be telling me everything you know about him."

_Shit._ She had some dirt on Keefe, just like any self-respecting hotel manager would have on her guests. Late nights out in downtown Miami, the exotic hooker who visited every time he was in Miami without his family, as well as a darker secret that Lisa had inadvertently stumbled over barely half a year ago… But did Jackson _know_ she had this kind of information, or merely suspect she did?

"What's my deadline?" she asked with feigned sweetness. Might as well start buying time now…

The corner of his lip drew up in a feral smirk. "You forget who I am and what my work demands."

"No, you've reminded me of all that multiple times today. Maybe I just don't care."

"Lack of emotions has never been your strong point."

"Having emotions has never been yours."

"Then you're wasting your time by insulting me."

She bristled in silence.

"He stayed at your hotel every single time he went to Miami. You know things about Keefe that precede my Company's interest in him. I need that information, and I need it soon."

"Well it looks like you're failing another job, because I'm not telling you anything."

"Lisa, I'm not insulting your intelligence by lying to you and pretending I didn't have a motive for coming down here. You knew you were getting dragged back into something the moment I showed up in your doorway in Mexico. I promised I would eventually tell you where we were going and why, and I've kept that promise, right?"

"Being honest about wanting to kill someone doesn't mean I'm going to help you!"

"Maybe not willingly."

"Jackson, this isn't like last time. I'm not scared of you."

"We could change that." His eyes glowed an unearthly blue, lit by the reflection of the hot tub.

"There's nothing you can threaten me with anymore! My dad is your boss. My job is gone, my life is already wrecked—"

"—and I know plenty of ways to make it worse. And I will, trust me, unless you tell me what you know about Keefe."

"It's nothing that's useful to you!"

"Quit lying to me!" Jackson snarled, abruptly standing and crossing the small width of the hot tub. He gripped the backs of her legs right underneath her knee and slid her to the edge of the hot tub. Lisa fought to keep her balance. She was about to give Jackson a searing reprimand when she was distracted by the numerous scars that sheathed his torso. She felt like she was staring at his life story, etched into his skin.

"What if we make a deal?" he asked, his voice lower and more deliberate.

She lifted her gaze, startled at his words. "Excuse me?"

"Remember what I was talking about this morning in the car? We exchange favors. You give me the information I want, and in return I set you up with a million dollar condo in Paris and a credit card with no spending limit."

"You really think I'd take money and go hide the rest of my life? After the whole ordeal in Mexico?"

"Leese, that's better than being locked up by the government for something you didn't do."

"Are you saying you'll turn me over to the CIA if I don't cooperate with you?"

"I would never be that cruel. But how badly do you want to save Keefe, at the cost of your own happiness?"

"It's the principles, Jackson. I couldn't live with myself knowing I condemned a decent man and his family to death."

"What if it were some random stranger on the other side of the world? What is it about personally knowing the guy that chokes up your womanly conscious?"

"I can't explain it to you because you don't seem to have one."

"Do I look like a woman?"

Lisa threw her weight backwards and pulled her legs out of his grasp. "I'm going inside."

"Fine," he answered, like it was his decision. He stepped out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel around his shoulders. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Assuming I'll still be here," she snorted, walking ahead of him towards the door.

"That eager to be rid of me?" he asked lightly, as if he hadn't just been demanding she reveal dangerous secrets that could end a man's life. They entered the hotel and walked toward their room. Lisa lowered her voice to a rude hiss.

"No, in fact I'm going to call my friends and bring them here to meet you. They're called the police. They're super friendly."

"Give me a reason to think you'll seriously do that and I'll tie you up to the heaviest thing in the room. Besides, you know that turning me in will invariably lead to you and your father being arrested."

"What if I told them everything I knew in exchange for immunity for my father and me?"

Jackson laughed and shook his head. "Doesn't happen like that in real life, Leese. Think about that night on the plane. You're the one who made the phone call. You're the one that works at the Lux. You told Cynthia to authorize the room switch. You stabbed me in the throat with a pen, and evaded direct orders from airport personnel. You stole a car and killed a CIA agent at your father's house. You are the daughter of Joe Reisert, who I know for a fact has a file at the CIA, and you've reportedly been quite close with him since your parent's divorce. You have a legit driver's license, social security number, birth certificate – everything that makes you a true US citizen. You're real. You're trackable. Larry Kremer and Richard Dallas only exist on paper. They're dead ends for any investigation.

"Have I said enough? If the CIA got their hands on you they'd be more than happy to blame you for the entire incident. Even if they did trace my identities back to the Company, legally going up against an organization like ours would be a drain on their time and resources, whereas convicting one civilian is easy and makes the public happy. There's no way they'd grant you immunity from prosecution, especially not for you _and_ your father."

He punctuated this statement by sharply sliding the key card into the door to their room and pushing her inside.

Lisa immediately entered the bathroom and locked the door. She turned on the shower and climbed in, but the hot water was only soothing to her skin, doing nothing to calm her troubled mind. Her actions had gone on autopilot while her thoughts swarmed around her head in one angry mass.

Jackson's warning disturbed her and pissed her off. She knew he was frighteningly adept at contorting words to his advantage, but the images in her head were hard to shake once he'd placed them there. She had been counting on eventual help from the CIA, who were sure to be sympathetic to her situation in some way. But Jackson made it sound like they'd happily convict her and throw her in prison, no questions asked. Hell, Jackson could probably bargain for a _favor_ with them to get the entire process sped up.

She sighed into the hot water streaming past her face. There's nothing you can do about that right now, Lisa. Focus on the future. Focus on Keefe. He's your ticket out of this mess. Keep him safe and you'll be okay.

It's hard to do that when Jackson is hell bent on finding out what you know about him, her pessimistic side whispered. And you know he won't stop until he learns all of it – everything you thought you could bury with your former life.

Lisa stepped out of the shower and dried off, making sure to use all four towels in the process. She wished she had thought ahead and brought a clean change of clothes. She redressed in her old clothes and sank down into the corner created by the side of the tub and the bathroom wall, opposite the toilet.

Her thoughts gradually spiraled into a memory from half a year ago, the night after the fiasco with the hotel guest and the Lux Atlantics's hot tub. Funny how the entire incident had been brought up earlier today in the car, and how it had a vague connection to the information that Jackson was currently trying to wrench out of her. She replayed the memory over and over in her head, trying for the thousandth time to piece together loose details with improbable theories. At some point she fell asleep, her head pillowed in a damp towel.

"Hey, Lisa… Wake up." Cynthia's prim voice and a hand gently shaking her shoulder woke Lisa from her restless and unplanned nap.

"Oh... shoot. Cynthia, I—" She sat up and shook out her numb arms. "I was at the hospital so late last night. I barely got two hours of sleep before I had to come back here for Keefe's arrival."

Cynthia smiled. "You work so hard, Lisa. You deserve an afternoon nap."

"Oh no, really I don't. I'm already behind on all this filing and the Taylor's were just in here throwing a fit about the hot tub being closed. I told them a guest gave herself a concussion and they were still rude about it." Lisa knew she was rambling to wake herself up and get back on track, but Cynthia didn't seem to mind.

"What happened with that lady? Is she okay?"

"She's fine. It was entirely her fault but she tried to call her lawyer and file paperwork to sue us. At one in the morning! I had to smooth everything over as best I could."

"You really go above and beyond your job requirements."

"Promotions do that to you," Lisa replied with a rueful smile. "So, what's up?"

"Keefe called down to the front desk a few minutes ago. He said a friend of his would be calling your office in the next half hour, and asked you to personally direct the call to his room. He caught me accidentally hang up on someone this morning," the pale redhead confided nervously. "I guess he hopes you're better at using the new phone system." She seemed a little put out by the bad timing.

"I'm sure it's just an important call and he wants a manager to take care of it. Don't tell anyone I fell asleep and I won't reveal that you're a technology klutz."

"Everyone already knows that," Cynthia sighed. "See you at lunch."

Twenty minutes later her office phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown number from Boston. Probably Keefe's friend…

"Lux Atlantic Resort. This is Lisa speaking, how may I help you?"

"Connect me to Keefe's room," a male voice ordered.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"No, just do it."

Lisa faltered, thrown off by the man's rudeness. "Ah.. one moment sir." She put the man on hold and dialed the extension to Keefe's suite.

"Lisa?" Keefe answered. "Thanks for taking care of this for me. I was in a rush but didn't want to give out my personal number to this guy. Your business card had your office number listed. I hope you don't mind…"

"It's quite alright, Mr. Keefe," Lisa replied quickly, flattered and smiling from the politician's natural charm. "I'll transfer him up here now."

She pressed the hold button a second time and switched back to the other line. "Thank you for your patience. I'm transferring you now."

"Hurry up," the man snapped.

_Gosh he's nasty_, she thought. _Okay, so I have Mr. Rude on line one, and Keefe on line two – shoot, how do I hook them up again? I thought I knew this…_

The tech guy had shown her how to work the phone last week when their new system had been installed, but there had been such an overload of new features everything just blurred together. The instruction manual was way out at the front desk and she had both men waiting – crap! What if she hung up on them like Cynthia had? _Just go with your instinct, Lisa!_

She pressed the sequence of buttons she thought might be correct. If she executed it right an automatic voice would say "connecting" and disconnect her from the conversation… but instead of clicking and hanging up, there was a low beep and someone answered!

"Hello?" Keefe's voice asked politely. Shoot, how had she transferred herself back to Keefe's line? She was on the verge of opening her mouth and explaining her mistake when a second voice spoke.

"Keefe. Why the hell didn't you just give me your cell? I'm the one that puts people on hold, not the other way around."

Lisa silently cursed— she had somehow set up a three-way call instead of directly connecting the two men's phone lines! What would happen if she hung up? It could disconnect them both and her professional image would go down the toilet. Maybe she could just leave the receiver lying on her desk until they were finished talking? Shit!

"I don't want you to have my personal number," Keefe replied casually. "I prefer you getting in touch with me like this."

"You're a cocky bastard for the amount of trouble you're about to be in."

"Oh, did you decide to tell on me then? Hoping your boss might take you back?"

"Fuck you, Keefe. You know you only got where you are now because you ran out McCormac for tax fraud. And look at you now, thinking you can play with the big boys and not get caught."

Lisa was transfixed by the conversation. Every ethical fiber in her being was screaming to put the phone down, but her moral conscious was tingling with curiosity. Who was this rude guy and what was Keefe's connection to him?

"It's not a game, Pat, it's a business deal – plain and simple. You were trafficking containers for three grand a pop and now I'm offering to do the same for one. My clients would be idiots to put up with your bullshit any longer."

"What makes you think you can run this scheme better than I have for the past two years?"

"So much cargo, so little time, Pat," Keefe sighed theatrically. "The port officials can't check everything. Especially if I tell them not to."

The rude man switched tactics. "The men you're dealing with are dangerous, Keefe. They're terrorists and they're crazy. Supposedly the leader is an American on the run from governments all over the world. His group has more connections than you realize and they don't fuck around. You're in over your head."

"Thank you for the warning," Keefe said sarcastically.

"What if we split the deal? Charge two grand and split the profit even."

"No, sorry. I'm in a greedy mood today."

_Dammit Keefe, _Lisa wanted to shout. _ What are you doing?_

"Dammit, Keefe!" the rude man echoed. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"No, in fact, I'm pretty damn sure I know what I'm doing. I'm selling weapons to the right people and making a profit. Don't get in my way, and don't even think about turning me in. I have several witnesses just itching to get you thrown in jail."

"All bluffs, Keefe! My men have been loyal from the beginning."

"But not all of them are loyal now. You know how to find out which ones. Don't ever call me again unless it's to apologize for wasting my time."

The line abruptly clicked. Seconds later the rude man cursed and hung up. Lisa dropped her receiver into its cradle — and with a rude jerk she woke up in the hotel bathroom in Louisiana.

:o:

:o:

:o:

After Lisa locked herself in the bathroom, Jackson stripped off his wet swimsuit and changed into a pair of loose gray sweatpants. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, hoping Lisa would be done soon so he could shower before falling asleep.

He lay on the bed and briefly considered her threat to call the police. He wondered if she would actually follow through with it while she was unattended. It really would be safer to tie her up, but Lisa would view that as a challenge and could possibly incite her to cause trouble. Better to leave her unguarded, and maintain a level of control that would keep her wary but not defiant.

He thought his warning about the CIA had sufficiently alarmed her. Perhaps parts of it had been slightly exaggerated, but Jackson really didn't know how the government organization would handle her individual case. In attempting to have Jackson arrested, Lisa could very well hand herself over in the process.

The water shut off in the bathroom and Jackson immediately ran through a number of backhanded comments he could use to piss Lisa off. He got a kick out of watching her fists clench and hear her breathing change whenever he'd made her mad.

Several minutes passed but she still didn't emerge. The show on television ended and a new one came on after a lengthy bought of commercials. What the hell was she up to? Jackson rolled off the bed and approached the bathroom. He watched the bar of light underneath the door for any signs of movement. Long seconds passed devoid of sound. A nasty thought sprang into his mind — surely she wouldn't try _that_ — but no, he had just heard something faint. She was alive, just clearly miserable.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa sat in stunned shock for several long minutes. The memory was just as startling in a dream as when she had experienced it fully awake six months ago.

She had been in disbelief for some time afterwards, unable to accept that the smiling, sincere politician could have any dishonest dealings with the criminal underworld. But she knew she had not imagined the conversation or its implications. Keefe was illegally selling weapons to terrorists, despite – or perhaps because of – his position as Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security. On top of that, he had stolen the operation from another criminal named Pat. The irony of the arrangement felt terribly American.

Lisa siphoned tears out of her eyes with a damp wad of toilet paper. Keefe had made such a mess out of things. She wondered if taking the deal from 'Pat' had been the downfall that led to the hit on Keefe and his family. Was he still trafficking weapons even after the attempt on his life?

More importantly, she didn't think the Company knew about these illegal transactions. Based on Jackson's words earlier in the hot tub, they were desperate to plow beneath the golden boy exterior and find the immoral secrets that every politician seemed to bury these days. If the Company found out about Keefe's side business, there was no telling what sort of fatal damage they could cause him. They could blackmail him straight into a rigged death trap. They could outright expose him to the public, and the humiliation would lead to a disgraced 'suicide.' The possibilities were limitless to corrupt, imaginative men like Jackson and Affague. Information was something the Company thrived on – bought with words and money and molded into tangible, blood-splattered results.

But how to conceal what she knew from Jackson? Time and experience were on his side. He'd whittle her defenses down, using a combination of his ruthless energy and charming, off-hand comments that left her suspicious and cynical. The pressure of Jackson's presence always made her react so strongly to him. She felt pity for the naïve Lisa she'd been forced to shed that night on the plane – when she'd realized that evil stalked the world wearing a sharp gray suit and a Rolex.

And now that it had come back to find her, Lisa knew that this time there would be no tie – this time, she would win.

Lisa sniffed, then blew her nose into the thoroughly soaked toilet paper and grabbed more off the roll. She huddled closer to the bathtub, drawing her knees up against her forehead, and passed the night in exhausted silence.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	11. Chapter 11

Jackson rolled over on his side and slit his eye to check the clock. One in the afternoon. Lisa's bed was untouched. Stubborn woman – was she still in that damn bathroom? He draped his arm across his face to block the sunlight. "Fuck, I hate driving," he muttered.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa was startled awake by heavy banging on the bathroom door. She didn't realize how much she ached until she shifted and pain shot through her body. "Oh crap…" she whined, massaging the ferocious crick in her neck and stretching out the tight muscles in her legs.

Jackson banged on the door again, cursing when he found it was locked. "Get the fuck out, Leese."

She glared at the door and slowly got to her feet. Waking up so suddenly on a cold hotel bathroom floor was disorienting.

"I will break down this door with my bare hands," Jackson growled from barely two feet away.

She unlocked the door and snapped it open. "Chill out!"

Jackson's arm was braced above his head against the frame, blocking her way out. He was shirtless and his sweatpants hung threateningly low on his hips. He didn't move to let her pass. "Sleep well?"

_Oh, so you wanna pick a fight, _Lisa mentally snarled while she mustered the fakest smile possible. "Fine, thanks for asking." She tried to edge around him out of the bathroom, but he shifted his weight and the simple motion cut off her escape. His eyes roamed across her tired face and he probably came to all the right conclusions about how her night had fared.

She held her breath and forced down her rising anger so she wouldn't give him any reason to keep talking.

"Be ready to leave in thirty minutes."

She nodded and pushed past him, attempting to keep her bare skin far out of contact with his. The door slammed behind her and running water hit the tub seconds later.

Lisa stripped off her wrinkled clothes, damp with memories and tears, and forced them into her suitcase. She dressed in a pair of jeans and modest blouse and sighed at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had dried into a frightful, frizzy mess that was only partially tamed after pulling it back into a ponytail.

She sat on the edge of her unused bed and didn't say a word when Jackson emerged from the bathroom wearing a soaked towel around his waist. She held her tongue in check when he sarcastically thanked her for leaving him a clean towel. She was silent for the entire first hour in the car despite her physical pain. Her muscles were a wreck. Her head ached terribly from a pinched nerve in her neck while her body slid sickeningly between feverish nausea and a shaking chill. The stress from yesterday, hell, from the past four and a half months, had caught up to her in that bathroom last night and devastated her health.

Lisa shifted her weight and twisted an inflamed muscle in the wrong direction. She audibly cried out in pain and accidentally broke her vow of silence.

"What's the matter?" Jackson immediately asked without looking over.

"I'm sore and I just want to go to sleep," she said, a little ashamed of the pitiful whine in her voice.

Jackson reached behind his seat and tossed a blanket across her lap. Their eyes met briefly, and although no words passed between them Lisa understood he was offering a sort of truce. He wouldn't bring up last night until she'd gotten some sleep and felt better. Lisa wasn't exactly sure how she'd interpreted it that way, but was grateful for any small favor at this point. The point of not speaking had been to delay discussing Keefe, and it had worked to her benefit.

Lisa leaned the seat back and tucked the blanket around her. She curled into the most comfortable position she could stand, but the muscles in her back still strained against the rigid contours of the seat. She gathered a corner of the fabric into a pillow underneath her head, faintly bothered by the lingering clean, masculine scent that undeniably smelled like Jackson. The blanket steadied her temperature and she soon fell asleep.

If she hadn't spent the night in the bathroom and been so thoroughly exhausted, she may have seen Jackson reach out and carefully lift an errant strand of hair off her face, his fingertips delicately grazing the side of her cheek — but her dreams were already shadowy and restless, and it would have done nothing to comfort her.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa woke a few hours later to a strange clicking noise and Jackson softly muttering under his breath. He was playing with a Rubik's cube while he drove. He briefly removed his hand from the wheel to spin a side into place – four of which were already assembled into solid walls of color. The last two were still a haphazard checkerboard of blue and white.

"Aren't you tired?" Lisa asked, her head still pillowed on the soft blanket.

He didn't seem startled by her question, which miffed Lisa a little because she didn't think he'd known she was awake. "I've been sitting on my ass for three days straight. I'm bored to tears."

"That's not what I asked…" Her eyes narrowed when he didn't reply. "Don't you need coffee or Red Bull or something?"

He exhaled and tossed the toy into the backseat. "I'm used to functioning off of no sleep. If you see me drinking coffee then you know it's bad."

Lisa slowly sat up, relieved at how mildly her head ached compared to earlier in the day. The afternoon had been sunny and arid, but while she slept a dark mass of storm clouds had swept upwards from the Gulf and overtaken the car. The twilight landscape was washed in a bleak, gray light that darkened by the minute. Rain was surely imminent. The sun only illuminated a meager red-orange slice of the western horizon behind them. The idea of the sun setting on her old life was sadly poetic in a way, but instead of a fresh beginning she was barreling onwards into dark storms. The car passed a sign that read "Mobile – 70 miles." Alabama and the Florida panhandle were rapidly drawing closer.

She thought about Keefe and last night's conversation. She had to fully commit to doing everything in her power to keep the politician safe. True, he was selling weapons to dangerous men. The innocent lives lost through collateral damage were probably high enough to make her retch if she thought about it for too long. But the alternative was even worse – Keefe's death would effectively destroy the little hope she had left for returning to a normal life. If he died, she couldn't just casually reappear in society since she had been so blatantly involved in his first assassination attempt. She had to fight for his life because doing otherwise would ruin hers.

She thought about catching Jackson off guard and mentioning Keefe. She could start the conversation on her terms and disrupt any verbal traps Jackson might have planned while she slept.

"Tell me what you personally know about Keefe," she said before her resolve died.

Jackson looked over sharply. His eyes drifted across her face, probing for the motive behind her unexpected question.

He finally looked away, betraying only a small grin. "You learn fast, Leese," he muttered. "We know next to nothing. Keefe's security is too tight. The price tag for any information on him has skyrocketed since we tried to assassinate him, and some of our usual sources for dirt on politicians have dried up. Favors only get us so far sometimes. However, I'll warn you now that we still have several people in our pocket who can easily make a few calls and tell us if your information is bullshit."

"What about before the hit? Why was Keefe a target? Who wanted him and his family killed?"

He gripped the steering wheel tighter in frustration. "It's not the Company's policy to collect information like that from our clients. They use aliases, so we never know their real names. A motive isn't required to form a contract with us, just a lot of money. And before the hit… well, you were more important to the contract's success than Keefe. The one thing we needed to know about him was his location in Miami, which was always your hotel. We didn't collect much more information than that because he was just supposed to show up and die. Is that what you wanted to hear? That we don't have enough resources to complete the hit?"

"Something like that," she muttered.

"Well, I hope it's enough to satisfy your curiosity, because right now you're the only person under our control who has the information we need. And that's why you're going back to Orlando, and you're staying there until the contract is successfully carried out."

His candidness was intimidating but he had told her what she needed to hear. The Company was desperate to find some sort of incriminating evidence and use it to help them dispose of Keefe. Her control over his fate became more precarious every moment she delayed taking action. She couldn't simply give Jackson false rumors because his network of spies was apparently ready to double-check their validity. Perhaps she could throw the Company off by providing them with _useless_ information? After all, she harbored a whole variety of secrets about Keefe – but they didn't necessarily know that. She could reveal something relatively harmless about the politician, like the existence of his mistress or the time she had found leftover crystal meth on a table in his suite. Stuff like that was expected and would distract them from his darker secret. With luck, they would tag her as a dead end and look for their information elsewhere – and hopefully never find it.

The only snag in her plan was Jackson. He read her far too easily, which was unnerving on multiple levels, and would probably see right through her if she tried to downplay the full extent of what she knew. She'd have to figure out a way to lie to him without him catching on.

"So quiet," Jackson observed from his side of the car.

He'd caught her planning. Lisa suddenly felt bad about figuring out the best way to spend Keefe's secrets to keep them both afloat in this strange world of politics and murder. She blamed it on Jackson. He was telling her more about how the Company functioned, knowledge that pulled her tighter into his world. It forced her to play by their rules, because she sure as hell didn't know how to enforce any of her own.

It started drizzling outside. Fat drops of rain hit the windshield more insistently until a veritable downpour soaked the earth outside their tiny, enclosed space. Normally, being in the car during a rainstorm always held a calm, cozy sort of feeling for Lisa. Now it just felt stifling.

"Share your thoughts," Jackson suggested.

"No thanks."

"Did it sound like a question?"

"It sounded like you being nosy."

"It will only get worse once we're back at the base. Affague doesn't expect results until you've been there for a few days, but once that deadline gets closer my options become limited. I'm not going to pull rank for your sake."

_A few days…_ So she had some time. "I didn't ask you for help," she said snidely.

"Would you rather I made the trip unbearable for you the rest of the way to Orlando?"

_Aaggh, shut up. I need to think._ "This is already torture enough."

"I meant it when I said I could make this a hell of a lot worse for you."

"Then torment me all you want! You can't kill me because you won't get dirt on Keefe otherwise."

"I can bring you pretty damn close if you don't lose that pissy attitude."

"Pissy attitude!?" she retorted, incredulous at his statement. "Excuse me, but which of us got threatened in a hot tub last night by a psychopath?"

"Ahh… I'm pretty sure _I _did. Remember, you said you were gonna call the police on me? I didn't tell you but I was really emotionally distraught."

"You are so demented it's not even funny!"

"You're far too quick to insult people." Lisa ignored his hypocritical statement.

"Not one person on this planet would be happy to have their entire life screwed up, repeatedly, especially by someone as insufferable and condescending as you! You should be thankful I'm not a hysterical wreck right now because I swear—"

Jackson suddenly jabbed a button on his side of the car and her window slid down, letting in a startling howl of cold wind and rain.

She shrieked and tried to put the window back up, but Jackson had already activated the window lock and it held firmly in place. The vortex of air blowing through the small interior snatched their voices and left Lisa nearly breathless.

"You jerk!" she shouted over the noise. "Put the window up! I'm getting wet!"

He snickered at her phrasing.

"Pervert!" she seethed, shielding the window with the blanket. Jackson reached over and, amidst much cursing and yelling, wrestled the blanket out of her grasp. He tucked it behind his seat and blocked her arms when she tried to grab for it. He laughed even harder when she retreated to her side of the car and was immediately showered with a fresh spray of water from a passing car.

"Who's hysterical now?"

"Jackson! Put the window up or I swear I won't stop screaming at you until we're back in Orlando!" The wind lifted the strands of hair tied back in her ponytail and whipped them against her cheek.

"Promise you'll calm down?"

"I'm only yelling because you rolled it down in the first place!" she yelled, gesturing at the offending void.

"You have a terribly selective memory."

She folded her arms and gave him a stony glare.

"Promise?" he asked insistently.

"Fine. Whatever."

He finally relented and the window smoothly slid upwards, cutting off the fierce gusts of wind inch by inch. There was one last shrill howl and the previous silence in the car was restored.

Lisa maintained her glare until a smile cracked across Jackson's face and he started laughing again.

"Asshole," she spat at him.

"You brought it on yourself. Don't call me insufferable or condescending next time."

"Amiable and pleasant just didn't seem to fit."

"Look Leese, as fun as this is, we need to reach an agreement on Keefe so I don't waste any more of my time. Today is Tuesday. You have until the end of Thursday to voluntarily give me the information I've asked you for."

"And… if I don't?"

His expression was dark and unsympathetic. "Then we do things my way. It will be painful, messy and Joe will never forgive me for it."

Lisa clenched her hands tightly so they wouldn't tremble and looked out the window. "I don't doubt it. You've already proven you can be a monster."

The rest of the trip passed in a rush of rain, darkness and silence. When they stopped at a gas station outside Pensacola, Lisa bought some stupid book to try and take her mind off of her increasingly confused thoughts. She could barely concentrate on reading. Her eyes randomly jumped around the page without focusing on the words. She eventually tossed the book into the backseat and stared blankly at the passing shadowy landscape. The roadside signs occasionally hinted at their proximity to Orlando.

Lisa must have fallen asleep for a while because she was suddenly aware that the lonely highway had morphed into a multi-lane behemoth threading through the heart of downtown Orlando. Jackson exited the highway but continued to push the car at a dangerous pace through the wet streets of the city. Lisa fought back multiple gasps of fear as he expertly manipulated the sports car's navigation, whipping around corners and burning rubber off his tires.

They soon left the abundant lights of the city and traveled several minutes down a deserted divided highway. It was the same one the limo had taken to get to the private airport, four long months ago. It was so weird to be back here. Jackson turned into a driveway, passed through an imposing gate, and the Company headquarters materialized out of the darkness. It was past midnight and only a few floors were lit. No cars were in the parking lot. Again, the lack of any sort of sign or identification struck her as being odd. Jackson pulled into an underground parking garage and parked at the curb next to the elevator. This had been the last place she'd seen him in Orlando.

They wordlessly unloaded the luggage and shopping bags from the trunk and took the elevator up, entering the pale, winding hallways that led to Lisa's room. Now that she was actually in the building, it felt like nothing had really changed during the time she was gone. Her dad was still affiliated with the Company, Keefe was still in danger and Jackson was still an ass.

Jackson unlocked a door several turns deep in the labyrinth of hallways, revealing sage green walls and beige carpet. Definitely her old room. Definitely not nice to be back.

She discarded the suitcase and shopping bags on the floor.

"C'mon," Jackson said. "I'm taking you on a more formal tour of the place. You'll have access to a few more rooms than you did last time."

He led them back through the hallway maze. Lisa thought she was starting to get the hang of all the twists and turns. They entered the glass-ceiling lobby and from there descended three floors in a mirrored elevator. The doors opened into a long, wide hallway illuminated by endless rows of florescent lights. A stark tomb of concrete replaced the polish of the above ground floors. The hallway connected with several other brightly lit passages. They passed a few windowless, padlocked doors as they walked.

Along the way they encountered several other men, who all briefly greeted Jackson with varying degrees of familiarity and respect. Their eyes lingered on Lisa who steadily returned their stares. Jackson didn't introduce her to any of them.

"This place seemed a lot emptier when I was here after the red eye," she remarked.

"You weren't hanging out in this part of the building." Jackson swiped his hand in front of a sensor, which unlocked and opened a heavy pair of doors. The large room beyond housed a wild array of delicate, agile machines. Some were in consistent motion while others lay dormant. Jackson cut through the lab with a learned precision, pausing next to a waist-high podium supporting a rectangular screen.

"What does all this stuff do?" Lisa asked in awe.

"Whatever I tell it to do," an unfamiliar voice said proudly from behind her.

She turned and her eyes fell on a blond, smiling man holding an open laptop in his hands. He set it on a nearby table and moved to shake hands with Jackson.

"Good to have you back, sir."

"Glad to be here. Lisa, this is Neil. He's an agent and our resident tech expert."

"Lisa Reisert," she greeted him politely, extending her hand.

"A pleasure, Lisa," he replied, returning the handshake with a mild grip. "You're in a much better mood than the last time I saw you."

Lisa hesitated and glanced over at Jackson, who shot Neil an annoyed glance. "Yeah, you've… sort of already met him."

Lisa studied the short, youthful man but couldn't find his face in any of her memories. "Well, I'm glad this is a better start."

Neil smiled at her tactfulness. "What brings you to my dungeon, Jackson?"

"I need a handscan for Lisa and restricted access to the Company interior. No exterior doors. No private areas."

"That's like every room in this building."

"Allow access for Complex C, the eastern half of subfloors 1 and 2, the central elevator and stairwells and the kitchen, library and movie rooms on the main floor. She's allowed escort passage anywhere."

The machine scanned Lisa's hands when she pressed them against the screen. Neil's fingertips exploded against his keyboard and five minutes later her data had been uploaded to every security computer on the premises.

"She's all set. Anything else before you go?"

"You fixed up my laptop right?"

"Got it right there." Neil pointed at a black bag precariously balanced on a table full of soda cans and scrap metal parts. "I installed more memory and an extra 100 gig hard drive."

"I already had enough space."

Neil shrugged. "Put music on it or something. But please, not porn. I'm sick of cleaning viruses off Stan's computer."

They said goodbye and left the lab, Jackson's laptop in tow.

"So what's the story with him?" Lisa asked once they had reached the lobby.

"He graduated from MIT at 18 and gets paid to play around with the most advanced technology money can buy – and some that it can't. He lives and breathes the stuff."

Jackson briefly showed her the hallway off the lobby that led to the kitchen, library and movie room. He stopped in front of the glass double doors that led to her and Jackson's rooms.

"You'll appreciate this. Open the doors."

She gave him a doubtful glance before tentatively waving her hand in front of the sensor. The doors smoothly opened and she smiled at the unique pleasure only technology could provide. A few minutes later they entered her room again. Jackson opened his laptop, apparently not intending to leave anytime soon. Lisa started hanging up her new wardrobe in her closet so she'd have something to do with her hands. She suddenly remembered Jackson telling her about the agents dead-set on killing her last time she had been here.

"Is anyone going to come murder me while I sleep?"

"The agents here are aware that you're off-limits in every way possible. No one will bother you. If anyone does, come find me and I'll handle it."

"Does Affague want to interrogate me again anytime soon?"

"No, you're not that lucky. He'd be nicer about it than I'm going to be," Jackson replied absently, clicking through folders on his computer. "Come here and listen to this."

Lisa sat on the edge of the bed next to the small desk. Two voices emerged from the speakers and she realized it was a sound clip of a recorded conversation.

"Hello, sir," a strangely accented voice spoke. "My name is Ella. I am the person who wanted Keefe and his family destroyed."

Lisa's lips parted in surprise. She hadn't thought Jackson would reveal this kind of information to her, and now that he had, she was incredibly disturbed by it. It was a _woman_ who wanted Keefe dead? Lisa listened to the rest of the conversation, noting with some relief that Keefe's family had been dropped from the contract, but her surprise turned into panic when her name was mentioned.

"Are you still in control of that Reisert girl?" the woman asked, and Affague arrogantly confirmed he was. Pompous ass. "May I suggest asking her some questions about Mr. Keefe. Being his hotel manager, she may have had access to some of his more rotten political skeletons. I will call back in one week. Have progress by then."

The audio file ended and Jackson closed his laptop.

"I thought the Russians were the ones who wanted Keefe taken out," Lisa said cautiously.

"They were just a front for Ella. They opened the contract in their name as a favor to keep her identity a secret."

Truthfully, if anyone was secretly responsible for the contract on Keefe's life, she had expected it to be 'Pat' – the criminal whose voice she'd overheard on the phone. Was this Ella woman working with Pat, or was Keefe harboring more enemies than she was aware of? How hard was it really going to be to keep this guy alive?

"When… when did that conversation take place?"

"Four and a half days ago. Remember, your deadline is Thursday evening. I'll be across the hall most of the time. I'm not going to come looking for you." With that last warning, he left.

True to his word, he didn't bother her all of Wednesday. After waking up around noon, Lisa explored as much of the ground floor as she could access. Several locked door sensors stopped her from getting too far. She wandered by the movie room, hoping to find a film to distract her, but there were three men sitting in there talking so she didn't dare go in. The library was empty besides numerous shelves of books, and Lisa managed to pass the rest of the day alternately reading and fretting about the next twenty-four hours.

Come Thursday afternoon she had decided to tell Jackson about Keefe's mistress. There were hundreds of women in Miami who matched the hooker's description, and although the woman was probably witless, Lisa figured she had found another sugar daddy by now to whisk her away to the Caribbean. The Company would never be able to find her. Despite her decision, Lisa still hadn't worked up the nerve to knock on Jackson's door. If he started questioning her further, his blue eyes would take on that sharp edge and cut through her deception until he found out what exactly she was hiding.

Her time vanished far too quickly, and Thursday night found Lisa standing alone at the kitchen counter, poking forlornly at her broccoli and Hamburger Helper. Regular agents usually ate at the cafeteria two floors down, while higher-level employees and their guests were welcome to the services of a professional chef. Unfortunately, the chef had the night off and the result was less than delicious. She had hoped she wouldn't have to fall back on insta-American so soon after her return from Mexico.

Zhou Hiroshi unexpectedly entered the kitchen, her high, thin voice humming a foreign tune. Her face wrinkled into a smile when she spotted Lisa. "Your dinner is good?" she asked cheerfully.

Lisa wanted to put her guard up, remembering her father and Zhou and all the terrible memories that stemmed from that connection, but couldn't very well ignore the woman. She laughed, slightly embarrassed for a variety of reasons. "Not really, but that's because I made it, I suppose."

"Ahh," Zhou nodded in an unnerving way so that Lisa wasn't sure if the old Japanese woman simply understood or was agreeing with her. Lisa ate the last good piece of broccoli, then stood and scrapped the dry hamburger into the trashcan.

"Have you already eaten?" Lisa didn't really care, but she had half-consciously fallen into her pleasant hotel manager persona and felt obligated to be conversational.

Zhou held up a large bottle she had just removed from the refrigerator. "Not good for my health to eat past six. But sometimes I cheat and have sake." The old lady giggled like she was truly getting away with something. Lisa couldn't help but laugh with her. Zhou held out a dainty cup brimming with a clear liquid. "You will share some with me?"

Lisa shook her head, a bit taken aback by the offer. "No, no thank you." Zhou shook the cup persistently and some of the sake splashed out the side. Lisa instinctively took the cup before the rest ended up on the floor. "Well, sure, but just one small shot," she stammered obligingly.

Zhou grinned and quickly poured a second cup from the large carafe. "Kanpai!" she toasted and upended the liquid into her mouth. Lisa awkwardly echoed the foreign word and downed the shot as best she could, but choked halfway through and slammed her cup onto the counter.

"Oh…man," she wheezed, smacking her lips together. "Kanpai indeed."

Zhou cackled and quickly poured two more shots while Lisa recovered. She held out the cup again.

"Oh, there's no way," Lisa replied and tried to push it away.

"I made a toast to you and now you make one to Japan. Don't dishonor my country, silly girl."

Lisa smiled weakly, slightly embarrassed that she'd offended Zhou. She accepted the shallow cup and raised it in the air like before. "Kanpai Japan!" she said, and Zhou laughed and took the shot with her.

The alcohol burned into her bloodstream like a wildfire. She hadn't touched a drop of liquor since that Baybreeze in the airport bar in Texas. That drink had unknowingly spawned such a huge mess. Her job, her apartment, her boring life – all long gone because of that night. Could she ever go back to being normal? Would the Company ever let her?

"I should sit down, Zhou."

"Yes, yes dearie. My hip aches most days."

The ladies moved to the kitchen table. Lisa carried the cups and Zhou grabbed the decanter of sake, a slab of cheese and some Ritz crackers.

"There's not much to do around this place," Lisa sighed.

Zhou started cutting the cheese into slices. "It does get dull around here. All these men and most too young to flirt with. Joe has always gone out of his way to be kind to me, but we are strictly.. ah, help me. What is that word, Lisa?"

"Platonic?" Lisa suggested hopefully, biting into a cracker.

Zhou beamed. "Right. Did you know, I had been here for ten years before your father showed up. First day he was so full of spirit, I remember so clearly…"

Zhou launched into a story about her father in his younger years. Lisa nodded and smiled in all the right places but honestly tried not to hear much of it. Her buzz helped her thoughts wander. Zhou reminded Lisa of her own recently deceased grandmother. They both had a vigorous aura of energy unnatural for their age.

Zhou poured more shots of sake once she'd finished her story. She carefully changed the topic and soon their conversation had instigated a serious breakdown of US immigration policies compared to those of Japan. They talked about the countries Zhou had traveled to and Lisa's stay in Mexico.

Their talk turned to the Lux Atlantic and, quite suddenly, a solution fell neatly into Lisa's lap. Here was the perfect time to drop some dirt on Keefe because anything she said to Zhou would undoubtedly get back to Jackson. It technically followed his rules: she was voluntarily revealing information about Keefe before her deadline, he just wasn't around to hear her say it in person.

More sake found its way into Lisa's glass. She found herself confessing how much she hated some of the customers at the Lux. In a weird way she was sometimes relieved that she didn't work there anymore. The alternative kind of sucked, but, she said with a perfectly timed hiccup, she'd be happy if she never saw another "Mr. And Mrs. Taylor" at eight in the morning ever again.

She continued griping as naturally as possible. "I wish I could have seen Mr. Taylor walk in with a hooker so I could've ratted him out to his wife. It seems like everyone picks up hookers in Miami. Even Mr. Keefe came in with a girl every once in a while, but only when his wife wasn't there of course."

Lisa's gaze sharpened a little as she watched Zhou's reaction, but if the oriental woman was surprised by this revelation she didn't show it. Lisa kept talking to hide her nervousness, passing it off as buzzed rambling.

"Then again, when you see different visitors come strolling in with the same girls every weekend you start to recognize the prostitutes and paid escorts. Cynthia and I would bet on which customers would come back with which girl. I still can't believe how coincidental everything was with that whole Keefe thing, y'know?" Lisa continued, pretending to drunkenly switch topics. "My grandma dying, the contract and then my dad's real job all hitting me at the same time. What a weird week."

"It is strange how everything came to pass so suddenly. We had the contract for quite a long time. Jackson was tailing you for two months."

"I feel bad for him," Lisa laughed. "My life was so dull now that I think back. When you're living it, the routine doesn't really smack you in the face."

The women were silent for a moment. "He has a soft spot for you, you know," Zhou revealed quietly.

Lisa looked at her, more startled than anything but also slightly bashful. "You're kidding. Not Jackson."

"We've kept other women here before," she continued. "Young pretty ones – much like yourself, of course – but no one ever breached protocol for their protection or comfort. And, ironically enough, you seem like one of the few who can take care of themselves." Zhou tilted her head and studied Lisa a moment, as if coming to a more definite conclusion. "Perhaps that is why he's so concerned about keeping you safe."

Lisa felt unsteady, like the chair was trying to fall out from underneath her. "I need some water," she said, lamely trying to change the subject.

"Nonsense!" Zhou exclaimed, her tone once more brisk and energetic. "More sake! Here, I give you an easy one." She poured two small shots but Lisa refused hers. She'd had a few too many.

The oriental woman started talking about an assignment she had completely botched several years ago. "I had to plant a bomb in the basement of a bank in downtown Zurich, in Switzerland. Not a terribly difficult job, really, but the blueprints I was given of the building had been accidentally reversed, so my mental map was completely backwards from the moment I stepped inside…"

Lisa zoned in and out as Zhou told her story. She was pretty sure that Zhou reaching some sort of climactic ending right as Lisa decided to abruptly stand to get a glass of water. All of the blood and alcohol shot to her head, and she lost her balance and sank to the floor. Zhou stared down at her. For a moment there was only a stunned silence.

Lisa felt obligated to explain her behavior. "I'm sort of drunk." Zhou laughed and Lisa grinned lopsidedly, making the oriental woman laugh even harder.

Right then Jackson walked into the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Lisa sprawled on the floor. Two pairs of eyes noticed his arrival and waited for him to say something. A long moment passed before he asked, "Had enough yet, Leese?"

Lisa and Zhou exploded into hysterics for the sheer fact that Jackson Rippner, for five whole seconds, had been rendered speechless.

"Yes, I think I have. Where is my room? This place turns me around so bad I need a map." She and Zhou giggled again, but Lisa missed the serious glance exchanged between Zhou and Jackson while she pulled herself to her feet.

Jackson's hand lingered close to her shoulder as she walked unsteadily towards the lobby. "Ahh.. how about I just take you straight there. Easier for both of us."

The hallway lurched dangerously around her. How had they made it past the lobby? Not even the floor felt stable, but a strong arm circled her waist and held her balance. "Sake is scary," she muttered.

"Your hangover will be scarier," Jackson replied without sympathy. He unlocked her door and nudged it open with his foot as he drew her into the dark room.

He let go of her hip and closed the door. Suddenly the inky blackness was absolute. She had the unnerving feeling that even though she was blind Jackson was still able to see her. Her magnified hearing caught the faint swish of his pants as he moved across the room.

"How many shots did you have, Leese?" His voice came from the left, several steps away.

"Um… jeez. Too many. Zhou is pretty persuasive." She felt like she was slowly spinning in circles that kept catching themselves on her heartbeats.

"Are you going to puke?" His voice had drifted closer. She could detect a faint, lean outline as her eyes struggled to find light.

"I don't think so…" _Not right now, anyway. Maybe later. All over your suit._

"Are you sure?" The closeness of his voice shocked her. She stumbled backwards in surprise and her shoulders hit a hard surface.

"Shit Jackson," she gasped, bracing her palms against the cool wall.

"What were you and Zhou talking about all night?"

What _had_ they talked about? The Company. Zhou's job, Lisa's job, Keefe, Jackson — _he has a soft spot for you… perhaps that is why he's so concerned about keeping you safe…_

"Leese, are you alright?"

She dragged her drunken thoughts away from that startling memory. She was breathing hard and Jackson's outline kept skipping across her vision. "I need to lie down," she mumbled weakly, ashamed to request it like it was a privilege. She felt herself tipping sideways as the wall slid past underneath her shoulder blades. Jackson caught her around the waist and guided her to the bed, where she hesitantly perched on the edge. A faucet turned on and moments later he shoved a cold glass into her hand. A drawer opened somewhere in the room and soft fabric was laid across her lap.

"Drink that and change."

"I'm not undressing in front of you."

"Why do you think I left the lights off? I don't want to see you sloppy drunk."

Lisa sucked down half the glass of water and set it on her nightstand. She studied the red digital numbers on her clock – 12:38 am – as she decided what to do. She stepped out of her socks and pants, thankful that her long shirt hid anything indecent, and fumbled through the clothes until her fingertips recognized a pair of soft shorts, which she quickly slid up her legs. She undid the first two buttons of her white blouse but lost her nerve, and picked up the glass of water with an unsteady hand and took a few more sips.

"Quit stalling or I'll do it myself," Jackson's voice warned from across the room.

"Like I'd willingly let you undress me!"

He laughed quietly. "Keep arguing and I won't give you a choice."

"Don't sound so excited," she snapped, furiously undoing the buttons. The fifth one down snagged on the thread holding it to the fabric and she growled audibly. "I hate this shirt!"

"Move your hands." Jackson's voice was directly overhead. She shot to her feet and shoved her palms outwards. They connected hard with his torso but he failed to budge.

"Back off!" she stated firmly, although the undertone of panic gave her away.

He caught her chin and dragged it up so his silhouette filled her vision. She drew back her hand…

"If you slap me, I'll knock you out and leave you in the hallway."

She dropped her hand and turned her head out of his grasp. The instant she felt his hand on her blouse she inhaled painfully and stiffened – paralyzed by fear and alcohol and dark memories. Jackson deftly popped the stuck button and quietly undid the rest. His hands settled on the sleeves and he carefully slid the shirt off her shoulders, stopping short of actually removing it. The fabric draped intimately across her back and cold air rippled across her bare skin. Jackson tightened his grip and pulled her closer, and Lisa, unbalanced from the sake, inhaled sharply as her chest grazed against his body. She started to thrash against his hold, but his next words made Lisa's blood freeze up in her veins.

"Your deadline has passed," he whispered silkily in her ear.

_No…_

"You have one last chance to give me what I asked for," he continued, his voice low and unhurried.

"I drank too much. I feel sick. I can't do this right now…"

"I would say I feel sorry for you, but I really don't give a fuck. What do you know about Keefe?"

"I… I already told Zhou…"

"Told her _what_?" Jackson asked scathingly, his fingertips clenching deeper into the delicate skin right above her elbows.

A dangerous sense of panic started to beat in Lisa's gut. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. His words had changed. His tone was more brutal. While Jackson hadn't exactly been civil to her on the drive to Orlando, he hadn't been particularly cruel either. It was like he had stayed on the far side of some imaginary line that Lisa had come to assume he would not cross. She had _trusted_ him not to, even after all his threats. But it was all just a game. All just a set up. All just a means to an end—and now her false sense of security was vanishing along with his humanity.

"I… we were talking about Keefe," Lisa whispered in fear, the alcohol pounding through her head.

"Obviously," he snapped with impatience, shifting his stance in the darkness before her. His growing temper scattered her barely coherent thoughts.

"Er, well, wait… first we were actually talking about Mr. and Mrs. Taylor."

A malevolent gleam sunk into his eyes, which, she could almost swear, glimmered in the darkness with a light of their own.

"Leese, you have exactly five more words before this starts to get really fucking unpleasant."

Shit—she couldn't hold back anymore or else Jackson would carry them both over that edge—this was her last chance—

"_Keefe-has-a-mistress-in-Miami,_" she expelled in one long rush.

There was a frightening silence. She couldn't read his face.

"What's her name?" he finally asked, a frost of doubt in his tone.

No, no, no, she despaired. You're supposed to go away and leave me alone. "I never met her. I—I don't know."

"Bullshit," he hissed violently. He turned and threw Lisa into the wall next to the bed. She collided with a harsh smack and would have immediately crumpled to the floor had Jackson not snatched her around the throat, underneath her chin, and held her up with the sheer strength of his arm.

"Stop!" she choked. She hadn't expected to deal with him after several shots of sake, and his natural intensity, coupled with the foreign liquor burning in her stomach was giving rise to a terrifying feeling of helplessness – just like she'd felt on the airplane.

He pulled her closer, pinching her jaw. "This whole thing is bullshit, isn't it, Leese? I know there's more to him that you're not letting on, and you're going to be fucking sorry if you don't tell me."

"He's a good man!" she protested fiercely, fighting to pry his hand off her throat. "I don't understand why you're so sure Keefe has some terrible secret! Why do you think I fought so hard to save him during the red eye? Why would I want to keep him safe if I knew he was doing something to hurt other people?"

She could make out his shadowy form in front of her, but not his expression. Lisa hoped to death her passionate acting was persuasive enough, or else she was about to be in a shitload of trouble. She beat down the overwhelming fear that he wouldn't believe her lies.

Jackson exhaled in frustration. "Describe what the girl looks like."

"Tall, tan, long legs, dark hair, great figure," Lisa said without hesitation. She had to convince him that the damn hooker was actually real. "Always dressed up and wearing heels. She only came around when Keefe's family wasn't there."

"Where does she stay otherwise?"

"I didn't sleep with her! I don't know!"

"And what am I supposed to do with incomplete information like this, Leese?"

"Don't you dare ask me something like that! It's your job to figure it out. Go _read_ someone."

"If you're trying to buy yourself time by lying to me, you haven't gained much."

"Well if your stupid agents can't find her in Miami, just come back and bully me for information!" she screamed in his face.

Jackson flung her on the bed in disgust. He walked away and snapped opened the door to her room. The light from the hallway spilled across his outline and illuminated her figure still partially sprawled on the bed. Her blouse was tangled around her elbows and her hair was slightly tousled.

Lisa propped herself up with one arm and delicately traced her jawbone with her hand. They both knew there would be bruises there tomorrow. She slowly looked up and met his stare and the light suddenly illuminated a wild sort of triumph in her eyes.

They simultaneously realized that their encounter had ended in a tie—Jackson had gotten the information he wanted but Lisa had held back the secret he _needed_.

The moment must have struck them both, because they hung in each other's gaze, suspended in the revelation of equilibrium for several long seconds—until Jackson broke the strange silence and irrevocably tipped the balance back in his favor.

"I'll find out what it is you're hiding, Leese. And when I'm finished, you'll hate yourself for ever deciding to be such a deceitful little bitch."

He slammed the door on her wide eyes and locked it from the other side.

Lisa flopped back on her unmade bed where she lay in exhausted silence. Her anger soaked up all the liquor running through her body and ignited her temper. She abruptly sat up and wrenched off her blouse with a strangled scream of fury and threw it across the room.

She _hated_ him, and she swore she would someday make his life as goddamn miserable as hers was right now.

:o:

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	12. Chapter 12

The world was very quiet for the next few days. Lisa suffered through her hangover alone, huddled in bed with only a glass of water and a sour taste in her mouth to keep her company.

She hadn't meant to drink so much, but who ever did? At first it had taken the edge off of her stress, and then opened the way to get around Jackson's threats, but she had taken it too far. He had taken it too far in return. The bruises on her skin and her soul were still a dark and painful reminder of that sadistic exchange.

Lisa only left her room a few times, to stock up on books from the library and bring back food. She always kept her door locked, suffering through the perpetual fear that a blue-eyed assassin would burst in and strip every last secret from her trembling lips.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Hastings knew it was going to be a bad day the moment he stepped off the elevator and was greeted by his secretary three minutes after eight in the morning.

On a normal day, she would have simply nodded in his direction while he entered his office and set down his coffee and briefcase. By the time he'd sat and scooted his chair forward, she would be placing a black folder in front of him, which would usually contain a neatly printed list of daily tasks.

But today was different, and different was bad. She smiled grandly and said, "Good morning, Mr. Hastings." She was agitated. That meant she'd already had a lot of coffee. Something, somewhere in the CIA organization had gone screwy.

"What happened?" Hastings asked with a wary grimace.

"Finish your coffee first, sir." Her pleasantness was frightening.

"Just tell me now. I had a cup before I left home," he lied.

The secretary anxiously patted her hair. "New evidence was faxed in at six-thirty this morning, about the missile used to destroy Keefe's suite. The lab guys finally found a lead on the bogus serial number. The report shows the missile originated overseas. It was traced back to several possible foreign suppliers. Its entry into the United States was not legally documented."

"So the Director is handing the whole mess to me to find out who smuggled it into the country?"

"And he'd like to know how it slipped past our borders, too."

Hastings groaned. "He never makes it easy."

"You're head of Counterproliferation, sir. It's your job to keep illegal weapons from entering the country in the first place," his secretary glibly reminded him. "The Director will be here in ten minutes to discuss information about the case. Since you are now officially part of the investigation, he'd like to bring you up to speed all at once."

"That's very nice of him."

His secretary barely managed to keep her eyes from rolling and left his office. "By the way," she asked at the door, "have you heard anything about Greg Putcholski, from the Global Infrastructure department?"

Hastings shook his head. "Why?"

"Poor guy went on vacation a few months ago and never came back. Everyone thinks he finally cracked and left town permanently. His wife was such a vulture, I don't blame him."

Hastings shrugged, clearly still in a bad mood, and the secretary shrugged in return and closed his office door. While Hastings was normally calm and collected, when he was met with an unexpected hurdle those attributes were always briefly veiled by worry and sarcasm. He would present a composed exterior to the CIA Director in ten minutes, but for now he sulked and drank his coffee.

He leaned back in his chair and thought about his poker night with Walter and Nagourney a few months ago, right after news of the assassination had hit. The investigation had been at a crawl ever since then. Hastings was technically not supposed to know details about the case, but Walter had confided that the CIA's pitiful collection of evidence and data couldn't be assimilated into any substantial leads or theories.

The Reisert girl was thought to be dead by now. Hastings had actually met her once, when he'd stayed at the Lux Atlantic several years ago. She had checked him into his room with a kind, genuine smile; a memory that still brought a small smile to his own lips, even after so much time had passed. Such a shame that she was presumed dead.

Now that Hastings had a say in how the investigation was run, there were a few suggestions he would make to the Director – starting with an investigation of Joe Reisert.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Finally, the dreaded moment came. Someone briskly knocked on Lisa's door and used a key to unlock it. The door swung open, and her father entered the room.

"Dad!" Lisa breathed out slowly, sat up and laid her book to the side. In this maelstrom of enemies and strangers, it was nice to see his familiar face. "What are you doing here?"

He took a few hesitant steps toward her bed, a little sad from her casual greeting. If he noticed the bruises along her jaw, he didn't mention it.

"Affague called and finally told me what was going on. Lisa, I had _no idea_ they were going to…" He trailed off, running a hand through his thick hair and resettling his glasses. "I'm sorry, and I know you're so tired of hearing me say that, but I was really left out of the loop on this one. As soon as Affague told me Keefe's contract had been reactivated I demanded to come back here. I arrived just now."

She mimicked a smile. "Well, I've been okay. I mean, besides being harassed and manipulated all the time, of course. But I've managed."

He looked crushed by her flippant dismissal. "Lisa, what is it that put so much distance between us? I know you were upset when you learned about me working here, but there's something else besides that."

"No there's not," she snapped rudely, her anger covering the surge of sadness at his words.

"Lisa! Enough with the attitude! I am still your father no matter how much you despise me for the choices I have made in my life. I know either Affague or Jackson lied to you about me and I want to know what they said to you."

"And if I don't tell you?" she asked, trying to act indifferent.

"Then I'll still try to help you in any way I can because I love you. You're my daughter and I can't stand the thought that you don't want me in your life anymore."

A hot knot of guilt rose high in her throat. She had selfishly blamed her father for everything that had gone wrong, conveniently not realizing that she was all he had left at the end of his life. His career had taken so many things away from him, and it was a cruel irony that Lisa's trust and respect had been among them, even after his efforts to protect her.

"Jackson told me about Zhou and the Malacca contract," she stated quietly. "He said she was assaulted and that you sent an agent over there to get revenge for her two and a half years ago. About the same time I got this." She gestured at the scar hiding underneath her shirt. "Funny how those two timelines match up," she said, hating herself for reusing Jackson's cruel words.

Joe's face darkened at this revelation. His eyes flicked to her shirt. "How does Jackson know about… what happened to you?"

"Answer me, dad. Was I raped because of your job?"

"Lisa, whatever he told you… The facts are right, but the motives he twisted into it are not. When you told me what happened to you, I knew it was because of the Malacca contract. I guess if you really want to point fingers then you could say I directly caused it. I sent the agent over there to protect Zhou and hurt the man who hurt her as a warning to the others. But if you're accusing me of not taking responsibility for the consequences of my actions, then let me set you straight.

"They left me a message on my answering machine the day after it happened. It was so vulgar it made me throw up. They threatened to do worse to you and Zhou and then come after your mother. If I retaliated any further, I knew you would be killed, Lisa. I had just lost your mom and was scared to death of losing you, too. Zhou could take care of herself. My first priority was your safety. I wasn't choosing between you and her. I was saving you."

"By doing _nothing_?"

"Do you realize how hard that was for me? I wanted to fly over to Malaysia and beat every last one of them to a bloody pulp with my bare hands. I'm a man of action, Lisa. I do things to help other people, but if I had instigated anything further a lot of innocent lives would have been wasted. There are always civilian casualties when two agencies go to war like that. Blood would have been spilled for a motive as petty as revenge. The entire Company would have found out what happened to you. Your privacy would have been disrespected and your life would have been disrupted even further. Being forced to sit by while the Malaccas got away with threatening you was infuriating for me but it was the only way to ensure you were safe. I did what I could, and I wish that were enough for you."

Lisa's eyes watered and she could only nod in response to his explanation. Despite the layers of stress and exhaustion, she thought perhaps her dad had made the right decision after all. If the lives of her, her mom, Zhou and other innocent people had been put at risk simply so Joe could have laid revenge at her feet, she would still have been angry with him. She felt like she was always angry.

"Dad, let's put it behind us for now. I know you never intended for me to get hurt, so it's completely unfair and childish of me to blame you in the first place. When I'm ready to talk about it again, I'll let you know. I just need time to think."

She met his gaze evenly and titled her head in warning when he partially opened his mouth to begin speaking. Her slight motion made him pause and reconsider his next words.

"Alright, Lisa. That sounds fair to me." He paused a bit awkwardly, clearly wanting to say more about the matter, but instead smiled and gestured to the door. "Want to get out of the HQ for awhile? I managed to pull some strings with Affague before I got here and he's letting us leave. How about we go shopping? You probably don't have any nice clothes here."

Lisa bit her tongue. It felt weird admitting that Jackson had already bought her an entirely new wardrobe. She thought it might come across the wrong way to her dad. Besides, what was everyone's preoccupation with buying her clothes to make her feel better?

"That sounds nice, dad. Just getting out of this place would be enough. Maybe relax at Starbucks and have some coffee."

"Anything for you, sweetie."

:o:

:o:

:o:

They circled the mall twice, walking and chatting comfortably about lighthearted topics, stuff that didn't really matter but made all the difference to their relationship.

This was the most normal they'd been around each other in nearly half a year. She missed his familiar company. Lisa almost wished she hadn't pushed him away so forcefully, but at the time she had needed the space. She thought he understood why, even if they didn't talk about it specifically.

Joe suggested they grab a late lunch at the food court. They ordered burgers and sat across from each other at a small table.

"I love you, Lisa," Joe told her with a warm smile. She squeezed his hand and smiled back.

"Love you too, dad."

"Oh shoot, forgot ketchup," he said after scanning his tray, and was gone before Lisa could say anything.

Out of nowhere, the tan, bottle-blond lady from the red eye flight sat down in his chair.

Lisa's jaw dropped until she realized she still had half-chewed burger in her mouth. She snapped her mouth shut and immediately started to stand and run to find her father.

The woman grabbed her wrist and held her down.

"Lisa, please relax. I'm here to help you."

Her ditzy blond act from the plane was gone. There was no trace of gaudy jewelry, fiendish nails or a leering stare. Instead, it had been replaced by a warm smile and a faint southern drawl. She was wearing a black pantsuit instead of a white one. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a sleek, professional ponytail.

"My name is Sheila and I work for the CIA. I was stationed on flight 1019 out of Texas to try to prevent Keefe's assassination. Please, no questions right now," she added quickly when Lisa opened her mouth to speak. "Just listen for a minute. We don't have much time. Organization #387 made extremely last minute plans but we were still able to—"

"What is Organization #387?" Lisa interrupted.

Sheila looked uncomfortable. "When we don't know the official name a group of terrorists operates under, we assign them a generic one. Please, no more—"

"Who told you I was going to be here today?"

Sheila smiled a little and tilted her head as if the answer should be obvious.

"My father?" Lisa guessed quickly. "Did he set this up with you?"

Sheila nodded. "We contacted him and got the ball rolling. No more questions until the end. I want you to listen to something, so you know I was on your side from the beginning." She pulled out a cell phone from her pocket and started fiddling with it. "The night of your flight, right after you finished your drinks at the bar, Jackson left to take a phone call in private. I followed him and recorded his half of the conversation." She pressed the button for speakerphone so they could both hear the sound clip.

Jackson's voice was faint but still distinguishable over the background noise of the food court. "I bought her a drink – sort of seems like a pushover – yeah, I'll have results within the hour – if it gets out of hand, I know what to do. She won't make it home."

Sheila folded up her phone. "Jackson is a trained assassin and would not have hesitated to kill you had he received the orders. He and the Organization are bloodthirsty and dangerous—"

"You think I don't know that already?" Sheila looked disgruntled at losing control over a conversation she had obviously rehearsed beforehand. Lisa pushed further. "If you were on to him before you boarded the plane, why didn't you arrest him?"

"I didn't manage to get a seat close enough to yours to understand how he was coercing you into calling your hotel. I couldn't arrest him because I didn't have enough evidence. I had no way to prove he was even harassing you. I kept bothering you two because I needed a chance to slip a bug on him, but the bastard was good. Even on a plane full of people, he was extremely aware of what was going on around him at all times. He didn't drop his guard once. Maybe he suspected me.

"Look, Lisa." Sheila scooted her chair closer and dropped her voice. "I don't know why you ran or where you have been for the past four months, but I can assume that you are in a very strange predicament right now due to your link between your father's associates and a certain politician. Said politician has personally vouched for you, by the way, and specifically requested we look into your safety.

"I'm here to make a deal with you. In exchange for information pertaining to the red eye and all events surrounding that night and the circumstances that have followed, we will grant you full immunity from any charges that might be leveled at you in the future. We have also made arrangements regarding your father's involvement with this situation, and while we can protect him during this current investigation he may still have to answer to crimes he has committed in the past. I cannot guarantee absolute safety for either him or you in any capacity. At best you will be a normal citizen, free to resume your life without fear of repercussion, and at worst you will be inducted into the Witness Protection Program."

_At worst I'll be dead, _Lisa thought, but didn't voice her opinion.

"If you agree to these terms, we will leave right now, directly from this mall and transport you to a safe location in Orlando. Your father will arrive shortly thereafter. If you do not agree, I will not take any action against you at this time. However, you will eventually be arrested and convicted along with the other perpetrators involved in this matter. Do you have any questions?"

"May I see your badge?"

Sheila stared for a moment, but pulled a slim wallet out of her back pocket and discreetly showed Lisa the silver badge inside. It resembled the one her dad had found on the CIA agent whom she'd run over in his front lawn.

"What happened to the man we left at my father's house?" Lisa didn't dare mention that she had been the one to kill him.

Sheila's face darkened considerably. "The Organization took care of it before we were able to get there. I was not able to see my friend and coworker after he died. I don't know what they did with his body."

The memory seemed to distress her, so Lisa quickly changed the subject. "I thought the CIA took care of international cases. Why are you handling this instead of the FBI?"

"I'm not allowed to discuss that with you specifically, but you've answered your own question. We suspect Keefe's assassination attempt involves people from foreign nations, so it falls under our jurisdiction." _The Russians._

"What kind of information are you looking for?"

"Anything that would help us put the right people behind bars. We want to hold them accountable for their actions towards Keefe and protect future targets from untimely deaths."

"How soon would you be able to take action against them?"

"You ask remarkably good questions, Lisa. Your testimony, provided it is accurate to the best of your knowledge, is one of the final key pieces of evidence we need." Sheila leaned closer over the table. "Do you agree to testify against them in exchange for physical and legal protection?"

Lisa's head was in turmoil. A clean way out of this mess had just been thrown at her feet. She could save Keefe's life and help clear her father's name. She could eventually go back to having a normal job and be a normal person… well, as normal as she could be when all was said and done.

Jackson would get what was coming to him. She could visualize the shocked look on his face when CIA officials burst into the headquarters and slapped handcuffs on his wrists, but knew deep down he would turn the gun – or knife – on himself before they ever got that far. A fitting end for someone who had shed so much blood in his lifetime, but it still made Lisa feel sick and hot and sweaty.

She thought about their conversation at the hotel in Louisiana. He had warned her that the CIA was only interested in making her a scapegoat, but apparently they had already been aware of the assassination attempt since Sheila had been on the plane that night. Did that mean there was a spy at the Company? Had her father talked? Either way, it meant the CIA was in deeper than anyone at the Company realized, and with her help they'd infiltrate even further.

But what would Zhou and Neil think of her when the bolt had slammed on their jail cells? God, what was she about to do? _Stop Lisa_, she thought, _this isn't the time for female, emotion based crap._ And yet she had just reminded herself of Jackson again. She envisioned having to walk into a courtroom and testify against him directly while he watched with cold, dead blue eyes.

"Shit," she whispered out loud, squeezing her own eyes shut as she forced the decision past her lips. "Let's just go."

Sheila leaned closer, her lips and brow pursed questioningly.

Lisa evenly met the woman's gaze. "I'm coming with you. Let's go right now before I change my mind."

"Done."

Sheila instantly scooted her chair back and set a brisk pace towards the exit. Lisa glanced around the food court for her dad several times, but didn't spot him. Neither woman spoke as they entered the parking lot and passed aisles of cars outside in the sunny, August afternoon.

Lisa's legs felt like they were sinking into the concrete from the weight of her decision. She had just set events in motion that would save the lives of everyone important to her… so why did her choice feel like nothing more than a betrayal?

_You're doing the right thing, Lisa._ It's completely rational. You're saving an important man. You're rescuing your father. You're freeing yourself from the disaster you've fallen into. How can you feel any sort of personal obligation to people who have brought so much misery to your life?

A loud series of beeps from Sheila's purse. "Shoot," the blond woman muttered, slowing and peering into the bag. She quickly dug for her phone and flipped it open. "Hello?" she answered, angling away from Lisa.

"Where are you?" an accented female voice blew through the speaker. Sheila cussed and nearly dropped the phone in shock, apparently forgetting she had turned it on speakerphone in the food court.

"I – ah… I'll be back at base shortly," Sheila said, fumbling with the phone.

"And you won't arrive alone. I know what you're really doing." The woman's tone had hardened, and although the ambience of the parking lot obscured her voice, Lisa could almost swear it was _Ella_…

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going, Sheila? I would have appreciated knowing about something like this!"

It was the same haughty attitude and thick accent from the recorded conversation she'd heard on Jackson's laptop. Lisa knew it _had_ to be her. Which meant Ella was a spy for the CIA!

"Maria! Calm down and listen to me," Sheila snapped, trying to find the button to turn the speakerphone off.

_Ella is her alias, so Maria must be her real name, _Lisa thought.

"We have to do what's best for the assignment and if that means bringing Lisa back to—"

"I hate that Reisert bitch! You know what she did to Greg!"

_Woah._

Lisa's eyes flared in shock and her eyes snapped to Sheila's face.

The woman avoided her gaze. "If Hastings didn't want you to know than you should respect his decision! You're overreacting just like he knew you would! Get off the phone, let me talk to Davis!"

There was a scuffle and more shouting. "Sheila, I'm sorry," a male voice said. "Adams told her. She came into my office and just went crazy."

_Another_ familiar voice, but Lisa couldn't place the memory where she'd first heard it. It wasn't anyone from the Company, in fact it hadn't been any time recent, but her initial gut reaction was that she knew the person currently speaking with Sheila.

The situation was suddenly way too weird. Lisa had never even met Ella-Maria, but the woman apparently despised her. Who was Greg, and what had Lisa done to him? Why did she recognize the voice of the man on the phone?

Sheila noticed Lisa's suspicious expression and abruptly slammed her phone shut. "Sorry Lisa," she said, once more all polish and smiles. Sheila grabbed her arm with surprising strength and led them across another row of cars. "Just some personal drama."

"Why did I hear my name?"

"You'll get your answers after we get ours."

"No, I'd like to know _now_. Hey, listen to me! Let go!" Lisa tossed her arm, trying to shake off Sheila's grip. The woman glanced over at Lisa in annoyance, but when their eyes met Lisa instantly recognized the aggressive change that had taken place. Sheila was no longer looking at her like a person she was trying to help, but a threat she had underestimated. The change echoed a time four months previous, when a handsome stranger had turned out to be a madman.

Suddenly the side door of a large white van flew open directly to her left. A stocky man jumped out and gripped Lisa's shoulders, spinning her towards the van's dark interior where a second man waited with a length of rope.

Lisa froze so tightly the man grunted in surprise.

A horrifying, gut-wrenching memory from almost two and a half years ago exploded into her vision. It had happened in a parking lot in the middle of the day. A man had involuntarily pulled her into a van just like this one and tainted her life forever. There was no way in hell that it was EVER happening to her again.

She screamed so loud it left a dim whine in her ears, muffling the sounds of the yelling and pulling and clawing and scraping as she fought to escape the clutches of the man trying to push her into the van. She threw several abusive punches with her elbows and stomped on his toes with all her weight, but he was built like a tank and resisted her blows as he pushed her through the door.

The second man lurked only inches away with greedy eyes and outstretched hands – fingers curling to grip her arms and pull her into the van, into darkness and the deepest, most hated memories of her entire goddamn existence – and she spotted a holster attached to his belt and somehow a scene from years ago flashed in front of her eyes of a strong hand showing her how to flick off the safety – and as the growling man in front of her morphed into a being from her nightmares, became that _bastard_ from the parking lot two and a half years ago, a terrible, emotionless calm came over Lisa.

He had to die. She wanted him to die.

While the men around her flailed wildly, her movements felt controlled and exact. She unhooked the gun from the bastard's holster, calmly undid the safety, raised the nozzle towards the man and ejected a spray of bullets directly into his face. The man's skin rippled from the impact, instantly disfiguring him as the swarm of lead tore apart his features. Blood splattered everywhere – burning hot on her skin – followed by the booming ricochet of the bullets that caught up to her ears, drowning out the shocked screams echoing around her. The life drained from the man's right eye (she had shot out the left one) and as his body slumped to the side his massacred gaze slid with it – off her freakishly calm face and into blankness.

She turned and glared steadily at the man standing beside her, the one who had been trying to shove her into the van. Lisa still held the bloody gun, and the look in her eyes must have been crazy enough to scare him shitless. He shoved her down against the concrete, jumped in the van and slid the door shut so hard the metal screeched on the tracks. "Go! Just go!" she heard him yelling violently to the driver. Sheila's face looked hysterical as the van careened out of the parking space. The engine audibly suffered as it was thrown into gear and tore away, leaving melted rubber behind on the pavement.

Suddenly, a second flurry of gunshots erupted in the parking lot. She couldn't locate the source of the shooter, but the round of bullets painted holes in the side of the van. The van swerved and bashed through the back ends of several vehicles parked in its way but regained its weight and vanished in the distance.

The phantoms from her mind began to drift away, no longer shielding her mind from the true horror she had just committed.

"What did I just do?" she whispered in terror.

The absolute enormity of the situation settled on her so sharply she gasped in pain and dropped the gun.

_She had killed someone — again._

She struggled to weave her sanity back together, but when Jackson found her huddled against a car she looked lost and ragged. Lisa self-consciously covered the faded bruises on her jawbone, although she wasn't sure why since he was the one who had put them there.

He kicked the blood-splattered gun towards a Company agent standing nearby. "Get rid of this."

Jackson slowly approached her and she turned to look at him. Her eyes filled with a glazed hatred, but her face twisted between an angry snarl and a plea for help.

"God, Leese," was all he could say.

He gripped her shoulders and lifted her dainty body off the pavement. "Don't touch me," she hissed, elbowing him away.

"Walk then," he snapped, pointing to his dark blue car idling nearby. She followed him to the vehicle but protested against getting in.

"I don't want to get blood everywhere." Of all the things to think about right now, and she was stuck on that. She was fucking mental.

"Honestly, Leese. There's been more blood in this car than you want to hear about."

She reluctantly sat down. What else could she do? There was nowhere to run because there was no one else who would help her. The fact stung and burned in her chest.

Jackson shut her door and discreetly slid a black gun out of his black suit coat as he circled in front of the car. He briefly exchanged words with four other Company agents standing nearby and then settled in the drivers' seat. He drove with one hand, the gun held securely in his lap. Lisa thought he might be as apprehensive about getting shot at as he was about her trying to grab it out of his hand. He reached into the backseat and pulled out the blanket she'd used on the ride back from Mexico.

Why was her offering her a blanket? She wasn't cold.

"You're shaking," he said to her unspoken question.

She only realized he was right once he said it. Her skin felt like it was buzzing with nervous energy.

She silently accepted the blanket and hugged the mass of fabric to her chest. That clean, masculine scent enveloped her senses again, only this time it was accompanied by the metallic taste of iron.

The long drive back to the Company headquarters became a hazy memory.

She found herself in her bathroom, her hands clutching her sides.

The blanket was gone. The dead man was gone. She didn't know where either of them were.

She stared into her reflection.

The mirror showed the blood splattered across her face, like sanguinary battle scars.

She could no longer feel it on her skin but apparently it was still there.

There was sudden warmth by her side. Jackson was watching her.

They stood silent for a moment. Lisa thought they were saying nothing and everything.

"I killed him… Jackson, I _wanted_ to kill him," she finally whispered.

Her soul would never be clean again, just like his. She would be haunted the rest of her life.

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the words were exhaled as a sigh. He leaned toward her and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her forehead, then left as quietly as he had appeared.

He understood — and that was the worst part.

:o:

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	13. Chapter 13

Lisa cried for a long time, emptying her emotions through her sobs. Her agony could have lasted two hours or two minutes, but time was irrelevant in her world. After Jackson left, she had collapsed against the bathroom counter and slid into a wretched heap on the floor … shedding hot, liquid tears that streaked empty trails of sorrow through the blood on her skin. The bloodlust that had screamed through her veins so recently left her drained and exhausted. Her emotions became a tangled wreck of pity, anger and despair.

Murdering a CIA officer in cold blood – even when she had been blinded by uncontrollable fear – was far different from bashing into one with an SUV in self-defense. It was worse when their blood splattered across your face.

She was ashamed she could even make the comparison.

In the rush of events after the first incident on her father's lawn Lisa had nearly managed to forget about the man entirely. But with the second man – Lisa cringed, realizing she didn't know either of their names – there was no way she could legally justify that shooting him in the face had been self defense. She had wanted to spill his blood so fiercely she could still feel the stir of adrenaline just thinking about it. The rush of the situation coupled with her deep-set panic had turned everything into a fanatical blur, and now another federal employee lay dead by her hands.

At this rate, she was sure her count was higher than some of Jackson's coworkers. It was frightening to see how much the Company had influenced her.

Sheila had laid out the perfect solution, and then Lisa had spectacularly fucked it up all in one go. She'd killed two CIA officers and lost the best allies she could have had. She had lost the chance to put Jackson in his place. She had lost respect for herself.

Her only consoling thought was that Keefe was in good hands. Since the CIA was already involved in the Company's hit, there was no way they'd let the politician die. She thought about Ella's voice on the speakerphone. If the woman was working for the CIA, that meant they had infiltrated the Company far deeper than Affague or Jackson realized.

But now, after unintentionally spurning the CIA's help so decisively, the future did not bode well – not at all. Would Keefe put in a good word for her? Could she still negotiate a deal after the CIA had come through and arrested everyone? Would she end up facing the judge in a courtroom, sitting at the same table with Jackson and her father?

At some point she realized the streaks of blood had dried onto her skin and begun to itch. She tore off her clothes and climbed into the shower, turning the water on so hot she could hardly stand the scalding heat on her skin. It cleansed her in some small way, watching the tinted liquid vanish down the drain, but water would only completely wash away her memories if she drowned in it.

She left the bathroom wrapped in a fuzzy, light blue robe and stopped short at the sight of Jackson working on his laptop at her desk. He hadn't changed out of the dark gray suit he'd been wearing earlier, and Lisa wondered just how long she'd been in the bathroom. He glanced at her and then pointed to a pile of clothes lying on a nearby chair.

She silently picked them up and retreated into the bathroom. She flushed from thinking about the way his lips had brushed against the sensitive skin on her temple. Out of all the people who could have comforted her at that moment, why was she secretly glad it had been him?

She dressed and ran a disgruntled hand through her curly, damp hair. The skin around her eyes was stained red from crying.

Lisa opened the door again and lounged against the frame, watching Jackson as he concentrated on his work. She knew she should be furious with him for being so cruel to her that night she'd drunk sake with Zhou, but now she just felt sort of lost and vacant. Killing that man had torn so many emotions out of her she didn't think any were left.

"Why are you in here?" she finally asked.

Jackson didn't look away from his laptop. "Just keeping an eye on you."

"Well don't. Get out."

"Don't argue with me. I'm doing you a favor."

"What, stalking me again?"

He gave her an irritated glance. "Fine. I won't allow you to talk to him if you're going to be rude." He stood and closed his laptop, preparing to leave her room.

Lisa tried not to let her curiosity get the best of her, but gave in and asked, "Talk to _who_?"

He ignored her and walked towards the door. She hesitantly followed and said, "Wait! Jeez, okay, I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't really work for you anymore," he replied with a contemptuous glare.

His sudden hostility made her pause. Something had changed the night she'd told him about Keefe's mistress. Like in the airplane bathroom, she'd forced him to reveal a darker part of himself, one that he usually held in check around her. Now it seemed to be riding much closer to the surface, and it scared her because it gave him such an unpredictable edge.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" she asked crossly.

He opened the door and gestured out into the hallway. "How about you keep quiet and just follow me."

They took the stairs up from the lobby to the same floor of Affague's office, then turned down a few hallways and stopped at a heavy brown door. It had an electronic lock by the handle, similar to the ones at the Lux.

"Why do you guys have so many different kinds of locks?" Lisa asked, thinking about the hand sensors and the regular key locks she'd seen throughout the building.

"If the building's security were ever compromised, the infiltrators could only get so far with one type of key," Jackson answered. He pulled a card from his pocket and swiped it through the mechanism.

_Won't stop the CIA_, Lisa thought. Out loud she asked, "What is this place?"

"My office," he replied, pushing open the door.

If Jackson's bedroom had felt like an empty shell, his office was a treasure trove. It was as if all the emotions that he refused to show secretly manifested themselves here instead. The room was smaller than Affague's office, but it had been comfortably arranged into two distinct spaces.

In the front of the room, a modern L-shaped desk fit against the left wall and a large bookshelf bordered the right. The desk was relatively organized, but was covered by a layer of papers and folders that had been haphazardly thrown there. The bookshelf was crammed with all sorts of books and binders, the latter meticulously labeled and sorted, the former shoved anywhere they'd fit.

A window with partially closed venetian blinds overlooked the back of the room, which was set up as a meeting area. A low, dark brown couch and matching chairs faced each other over a clean glass coffee table. A flatscreen was mounted on the wall facing the couch. The walls were partially covered by a few framed pictures and painted a muted bluish gray, matched by thin, dark gray carpet. Recessed lights in the ceiling gave the room a warm, ambient glow.

The overall style was similar to her own office at the Lux, a fact that unsettled her for some weird reason.

Jackson set his laptop on the only empty spot on the desk and flipped it open.

"Why does your office feel so much more… lived-in?" Lisa asked casually, studying the binders on the bookshelf.

"I'm in here more often than my room."

Lisa realized that each binder correlated to a different contract completed by the Company. There were a lot of them. She felt her skin chill. "Why?" she asked, purposefully turning her back on the wall of blood.

His face was thoughtful, and it took him a moment to formulate his answer. "If we're in our rooms, it's like.. personal time. Other agents can come by and bother you whenever they want. You learn to operate on a different sense of time here. They'll get back at five in the morning after pulling off a big assignment and wake you up to relax and share a few drinks. But everything is much more formal when we're in our offices. Agents are explicitly forbidden from entering another agent's office unless they are working on a contract together. There's no socializing or chatting in this part of the building."

"So I'm not supposed to be in here?"

"Well, you're my assignment, aren't you?"

She shrugged; a little bothered by his phrasing. Inexplicably, she felt even more isolated here in his office than she had on the plane or during the car ride. Being in a space he owned so fully was nearly breathtaking.

"I stay in here because I hate being disturbed. Most of my colleagues are fantastic at their jobs, but that doesn't make them fun to be around."

Jackson turned back to his laptop and Lisa drifted closer to the framed prints hung on a nearby wall. She recognized a Van Gogh painting depicting a flowering tree. She had had a similar print in her office at the Lux. Looking more closely, she was shocked to realize it wasn't just a print, but _the_ actual real painting. The fibers of the brush left intimate imprints in the bright splotches of paint, perfectly reminiscent of the master's style. She knew Jackson would never settle for imitation.

"Do you like it?" he asked from behind her.

"It's the original," she replied evasively, trying not to sound a little awed.

A wry smile lifted his lips. "It matched the color on the walls. And it was only a few hundred thousand." He pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed a number. "She's here," he spoke quietly into the receiver. "Alright. No more than five minutes."

He handed the phone to her and she cautiously put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Lisa?" replied a heavy, thick voice. It was her father.

"Dad!" she cried. "Are you okay?"

"Lisa, I'm fine. Thank god you're alright. What happened after you and Sheila left the mall? What went wrong in the parking lot?"

She was about to explain the mysterious conversation between Sheila and Ella, but had to quickly bite her tongue. No one could know about that connection.

"I can't really explain it. The CIA officers got too pushy and tried to force me into their van, and we all overreacted. I was trying to defend myself and… just sort of got carried away."

"It's alright, Lisa," he said softly, his voice compassionate.

"No… I really messed everything up, dad."

"It'll be okay. If Sheila was that forceful, they probably weren't up to any good. It was my fault for setting up the deal in the first place. I just wanted you to be safe."

"Are you with the CIA now? Sheila said you would have been coming with us."

"Yeah, well, she was lying to you. She told me she wasn't authorized to take me in as a witness and provide any legal protection since I didn't have a direct impact on the hit."

"But you allowed Affague to have me involved."

"He would have done that anyway. It was a formality to ask first."

"So… if you're not with her, where are you?"

Joe was silent for several seconds.

"Dad?" she asked again.

He drew in a deep breath. She imagined he had removed his glasses and was massaging his forehead. "Lisa, I want you to listen to me carefully. When I got back from the mall, Affague called me into his office. He had a gun sitting on his desk. He gave me two choices. Either I boarded a plane back to Mexico or he'd shoot me in the forehead."

Lisa bit her tongue in horror.

"Affague is crazy. Don't trust anything he does, anything he says, or anything he says he'll do. If it comes down to the wire, you can trust Zhou, and you can trust Jackson. Well, most of the time. He tends to run on his own agenda."

"Dad…"

"Lisa, I wish I could stay. I wish the arrangement with the CIA had worked out. I wish I had never cared about the name Charles Keefe. But all those are things I cannot change."

"I wish I'd let Keefe die the first time around," Lisa spat bitterly. "Then none of this would have happened and both of us would be okay."

"Lisa… Listen to yourself, sweetie."

Lisa froze in horror at his gentle tone, momentarily absorbing the shock of what she had just suggested.

"I… Dad, I…"

Tears suddenly flowed freely down her cheeks and she sank into the soft, dark brown couch. All of her exhaustion settled behind her eyes, and she drew a hand across her brow to try and hide her tears from Jackson.

"This place is crazy," she whispered fiercely to her dad. "I hate it!"

"I know, Leese. Trust me, I know. I never wanted you involved with these people. The only thing they can think about is death and money. Anyone else would have broken from the tension a long time ago. It sneaks up on you. But you've held out this long, and I know you're strong enough to handle it a bit longer. You're my daughter, after all, right?"

"Dad… I've killed people. How am I supposed to deal with that?" Her tears had stopped, burned out by her anger.

"Maybe Jackson could explain it better. The technique has sort of faded for me."

"Why him?" she asked, wary of the suggestion.

"Oh, I don't know. The way he talks about you sometimes, I guess I thought he was the closest person you had to an ally in that place."

Her dad's words were infinitely more alarming than they should have been. First Zhou and now him, hinting that there was more to her and Jackson's relationship than he had ever revealed to her. Out loud, she snorted bitterly and said, "I don't think either of us would agree with you."

"Well, you know you can always talk to Zhou, if you can find her. Do you feel better, sweetie? Are you okay?"

"Yes, dad."

"Are you s—" He bit his tongue, stopping short of finishing his usual question.

"It's alright, you can ask," Lisa replied with a faint smile.

"No, I'm not going to. I know you're okay. I know you can take care of things on your own. You're 26 years old and I can't protect you from this side of my life anymore. You've proved you can handle yourself."

"I have?"

"Sure. You're not dead yet."

She smiled at his sarcasm. "Thanks."

"Kidding. Just stay out of Affague's way and choose your words and actions carefully. I know you can handle yourself. But I need to get going, sweetie. My plane leaves soon. Take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Don't let me down. We'll get through this."

"Can I demand another phone call from Jackson if I want to talk to you?"

Joe sounded hesitant. "Sure, just… don't ask him by breaking his nose."

"I'll try."

"I love you."

"I love you too, dad," she said, rapidly blinking away more tears.

"Give the phone to Jackson before you hang up."

She locked eyes with him across the room, where he was leaning against his desk with his arms folded. "He wants to speak with you," she said, not getting up from the couch.

Jackson watched her for a moment, gauging her stubbornness, then walked over and took the phone from her. He was silent for a long time; wandering around his office while listening to her father speak. He finally said, "Yes, sir" and ended the call, tossing the phone on a chair.

"Your father is lucky to be alive. If it had been anyone other than him, Affague would already have had them killed." Jackson leaned against his desk again and massaged his eyes with his fingertips. "Joe didn't like my version of events about the Malaccas," he added with a wry grin.

"I can't imagine why," Lisa deadpanned, although her tone lacked its usual sarcasm. Jackson had clearly gone behind Affague's back and done her a favor by letting her talk to her dad. For the moment she was grateful to have had that chance. Perhaps Jackson didn't really deserve her spite for the time being. She could always hate him again later.

"Oh, before I forget. Is this her?" Jackson picked up a photo lying on his desk. It was a large black and white image of Keefe's mistress leaving a brick apartment building, frozen in mid-stride talking on her cell phone and putting on some large sunglasses.

Lisa was completely caught off guard – too surprised to prevent her body from tensing and her eyes opening a little wider.

"You just gave that away pretty terribly, Leese."

Screw hating him later, it was definitely more of a 24/7 kind of thing.

"How did you find her so fast?" she asked, dismay creeping into her tone.

"When you work with the best, pulling off shocking feats is on our daily agenda."

She frowned and angrily folded her arms, further upset with herself for dragging the poor hooker into this mess.

"Don't feel sorry for her, Lisa. She'll be fine."

"Yeah, until you abduct her off the street."

"Better us than the CIA," he shot back. "I have a feeling we'd be more civil about it. And speaking of, what exactly happened earlier in the parking lot?"

The unexpected question hit her hard in the gut. She nearly told him off for being nosy, but remembered her dad's suggestion. She didn't want to feel guilty about the man's death for the rest of her life. And unnervingly enough, Jackson knew more of her secrets than any other person in the entire world.

"It was too similar to… y'know," she said quietly, dropping her eyes to the gray carpet. "Getting pushed into the van, with the guy waiting inside. So I fought back. It was just…"

"Instinct."

"Yeah…" she trailed off, her mood dimming.

"Listen to me, Lisa. This is important. The first time one of our agents murders for a paycheck, there's a distinct split to their reactions. Most take to it naturally. They're not bothered by it, some of them enjoy it, even, and this makes them a good fit into our industry. Lisa, stay with me," he warned when she started to grimace and block out his words.

"But for certain agents.. afterward they're quiet and they have this look in their eyes. It's a completely different experience for them. They fully understand the control and power it takes to end a person's life. They make better managers than hitmen. I was part of the latter group. You are too."

Their gazes met with a sudden, brutal clash – the force of his stare slammed into her and stole her protests away from her lips.

"I never thought I'd see that same look in your eyes," he continued, studying her, _measuring_ her in some twisted way. "You were devastated by what you'd done, but you knew you had to do it. I think it brought part of you back."

A comparison between her and Jackson was bad enough, but his uncanny way of reading her emotions was worse.

"I had never felt that… angry, and calm, and entitled in my entire life," she confessed. "That part of me that I thought had died a long time ago was suddenly alive and in control. I couldn't have done anything to stop it."

"I'm glad you didn't try. You needed your revenge."

"It was taken out on the wrong person."

"He had the same intentions. Maybe not physically, but mentally."

"So do you, and I haven't shot you in the face yet."

"Pen in the throat was close," he murmured respectfully. "Did you say… shot in the face?"

She winced, briefly reliving that painful but rapturous memory. "Yeah. He was…" She fought down a grueling tightness in her throat. "There's no way he could've lived through it."

Jackson's eyes blanked of emotion and she could tell his thoughts were racing.

"Lisa… come here."

Her breath caught in her throat at the finality of his command. _Leave, Lisa,_ her brain whispered. You don't want to tangle with him like this. Get out of here – go back to your room – screw your pride, screw your curiosity – get out now – Lisa, MOVE.

She slowly rose from her position on the couch and took a few small steps, but her feet ultimately betrayed her. She walked towards him, stopping short of his reach. He shifted his weight forward and gripped the edge of his desk.

"Lisa, you can't get lost in the blame. Take responsibility for what you did – remember why you acted that way and the lesson you learned from it – but don't feel you did anything wrong. You have to separate yourself from your actions. You already admitted you weren't fully in control when it happened."

"Only you would have such weird logic," she muttered, folding her arms together.

"It's weird for people who've never killed someone. For everyone else, it's common sense."

Her heart sank, knowing she was irreparably grouped in that latter category. "You don't understand, Jackson. I don't know how you fell into this business in the first place, but it's your job to kill people and you've obviously grown used to it. Then there's me, little naïve hotel manager who's used to _helping_ people, not—" Her throat tightened again and she wiped tears out of her eyes. "Not shooting their faces off."

"When you work here, you train yourself to let it go. You learn to not let yourself dwell on it because it can destroy you. Besides, in your case it was self-defense. Would you rather feel guilty or dead?"

She stubbornly bit her tongue, refusing to indicate his reasoning affected her, but he let the silence hang until she felt compelled to speak.

"Of course I'd rather be alive, even when the first time in the parking lot almost broke me. I couldn't let that happen again. Especially not after what you did to me."

Jackson narrowed his eyes, offended. "I never did _that_, Leese. I never planned on doing that."

"But you did," she replied, her voice hollow. "You were doing it mentally. Assaulting my personal space and invading my life without permission… it's the same thing."

Jackson unexpectedly stretched out, hooked his grip around her elbows and dragged her toward him. She was too surprised to fight back until her body was pressed firmly against his.

"Jackson!" she spat angrily, fighting his grasp. "What the – let go of me!"

"_This_ is invading your personal space, Leese," he told her smugly, settling against the edge of his desk and not relinquishing his hold.

She braced her palms against his chest and tried to force herself away, but his grip was tight enough to bruise. The proximity was distressing. Memories of mirrors and sake and cabinets in Mexico flashed across her mind – especially that crazy, heart stopping moment in the claustrophobic airplane bathroom. Why did the difference between a few feet and a few inches always electrify her senses like this?

"As for invading your life, I didn't have much choice in that, did I? But sometimes I don't think you mind it so much. I think you like knowing that you get under the skin of someone like me."

She wanted him gone, gone, gone. She wanted his fiendish words out of her head. She told herself it was only hard to breathe because she was pressed so close to Jackson's solid chest.

"You think I'm going to hurt you right now, Leese?"

Her breathing was shaky and she clenched her fists to help her force down the tears and anger. "You already did," she hissed. "Just like him. Admit it, you bastard. You've ruined me in more ways than he has."

She cried out in shock when his head suddenly dipped and his mouth found her collarbone – his lips drifted across the taut skin and he breathed "maybe so, but don't take it personally" – and she had no idea what he was referring to but his hot breath felt nice – _nice?_ – on her chilled skin.

"I had you in that bathroom," he murmured against the side of her neck. "You would've done anything I wanted and I was going to use that against you. Consequences with Joe be damned."

She literally shivered in fear at the implications of that sentence.

He pulled away, his eyes heated and alive.

"But I saw that scar," he said, his gaze flicking from her face to below her collarbone again, "and I felt… cheated. I wasn't the first person to control you like that, and it pissed me off because I was jealous of the fucker who had."

"How did you know what it was?" she dared to ask.

"I've left more knife scars on people's skin than a surgeon does in his entire career. You think I wouldn't recognize what it was?"

She didn't answer and felt his breath on her hair when he exhaled.

"I know you can handle pain, Lisa. Was that night on the plane with me really as terrifying as being raped?"

"What the fuck, Jackson," Lisa breathed, meeting his unearthly blue gaze.

"Was it?" he demanded.

Her eyes had found his lips and she fought to drag them upward again and remember how to breathe.

"No," she admitted in a tiny, damning whisper.

He pulled her elbows closer, bringing even more of her sprawled body into contact with his. There was too much in the air between them. Besides all of their unspoken words and the combined heat of their skin, there was a darker, exotic scent. Jackson was wearing some sort of cologne and every few seconds she caught a faint, delicious whiff that lingered in her nostrils and set her heart beating crazily.

She only realized he was speaking when she saw his lips move.

"What about right now? How much does this scare you? Being close to me, in more ways than one. Knowing that you've never been this alone in your entire life."

Lisa forced herself to hold her gaze with the single most intimidating man she had ever met in her life. She always felt vulnerable around him but she knew that, for some personal reason, he chose to protect her from the full extent of terror he could unleash. She was terrified, not for her life, but because of the way he looked at her sometimes—like his decision to protect her might be revoked at any second like it had been twice before. They both knew he could overpower her physically, but it was the mental games she was scared to death of playing with him.

That's how frightening this was – but she would never give him the pleasure of hearing that confession fall from her lips.

"This isn't scary for me, Jackson," she said with a haughty tilt of her chin. "Just mildly revolting."

Jackson's eyes darkened in fury to her challenge and sensuously flicked down to her mouth. Without warning he slid his hands higher up her arms and pulled her millimeters away from his face, their bodies mirroring and overlapping each other even closer than before.

She felt the rumble in his chest as he whispered "liar" against her lips and then captured them in a forceful, searing kiss. Time was shocked into nonexistence while the world crystallized into exquisite detail.

His lips were soft but the way he handled hers wasn't. His mouth moved against hers, sensuous and demanding, and her lips parted as she softly gasped in surprise at the thrilling current of energy that fired through her blood.

So many emotions exploded across Lisa's thoughts that she couldn't even begin to understand them. She suddenly couldn't deny how long she'd wanted to know exactly what this felt like, driven by insatiable curiosity and somewhere, buried deep down, genuine attraction.

She felt his tongue push against her mouth and all thoughts of right or wrong willingly fled from her mind. He dragged his teeth across her lower lip, drawing it into his own mouth before releasing it, and suddenly the fervor of his kiss overwhelmed her and she momentarily gave in – surrendered to Jackson's insistent passion and started kissing him back, matching the force of his lips.

He growled deep in his throat, releasing her arms and slipping a hand under the back of her shirt, lightly dragging his fingertips down her spine in a way that made her tingle with excitement. His other hand sank into her curly hair, caressing through the soft strands until his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and held her against his hard, lean form.

Their mouths continued to explore each other with the intensity of a forbidden desire long suppressed and denied. They both knew this reprieve from reality was temporary, but that lingering thought fueled a racing excitement that was impossible to control.

Their breath mingled in the tiny spaces where their lips drifted apart—and when their eyes met for a fleeting second Lisa thought she'd never seen a more beautiful shade of blue before Jackson pulled her back into another kiss.

He dared to press his tongue against hers and coax it into caressing his own. She felt her control start to slip irreversibly, dangerously close to being discarded because of his thorough influence over her senses. She timidly ran her fingers across his lightly muscled chest, eliciting a longer, deeper kiss from Jackson that had her pressing against him in response to the growing hardness below his belt.

She sank her nails into the delicate skin on the side of his ribs, wanting to convince herself in this one stolen moment that this was real—reveled in knowing that a man as powerful and handsome as Jackson wanted her and she wanted him just as much—no—oh no oh shit—wait—noo no no what the hell was she _doing!?_

Lisa tightened her nails against his skin and abruptly pushed back from their embrace. She stared at him with wild, glazed eyes as she fought against the rush of emotions compelling her to lean forward again, just a few inches, and recapture that intense rush of pleasure she had been so fully caught up in only moments ago.

His eyes were bright and intoxicated, his heavy breathing passing over those gorgeous lips she'd just been tempted to fall in love with.

"I hate you," she snarled, feeling helplessly trapped even as the words escaped.

"Come a little but closer and tell me that," he challenged with a lazy grin, tugging her neck forward slightly. His fingers were still tracing mesmerizing patterns on the sensitive skin in the small of her back.

"You are so…" Her lips moved soundlessly as she sought an appropriately vile string of words.

"Revolting?"

"Oh, beyond that. Far, far beyond that."

"I wasn't a few seconds ago," he breathed seductively, his eyes falling to her lips.

She saw his muscles flex as he began to pull her back towards him, and an overwhelming part of her wanted to tell her rational side to fuck off and let him do it.

But it was _Jackson_, she argued vehemently—with a rising anger that restored clarity to her previously fogged brain—and goddamn her if she gave in like that and let him win so easily.

A memory from earlier flashed before her eyes—when he had pulled out that gun from his suit coat in the parking lot. Maybe it was still there. Maybe it would convince him to leave her alone.

She almost allowed his lips to meet hers again, and used the distraction to cover her right hand as she quickly palmed the inside of his jacket. Jackson sensed what was happening right as she grasped an object with a heavy, solid handle. Her fingers had wrapped around the weapon and whipped it at Jackson's face before she even realized what it really was.

A knife.

A big sharp, fucking scary one.

She had pulled it from its sheath. The dark metal blade dully reflected the light, trembling in her arrested hand from unexpected memories flooding her nerves.

"Let me go or I swear I'll kill you," she breathed, momentarily unsure of the extent of her control.

"Don't make threats you can't enforce," Jackson sneered, his hand tightening in her hair. "It's amateur."

She flicked the knife so it settled against the side of his throat, pressing hard enough for the blade to grip his skin.

A wary, calculating look flashed in Jackson's eyes as he glanced between the knife and her face. He slowly released her and set both hands, palm-down, on his desk. She backed away half a step, goosebumps suddenly rippling across her skin from the absence of his warmth.

"Are you gonna slice my throat open the rest of the way?" he asked, verbally probing for a weak spot with calm expertise. "Finish where you left off? Huh? It's a lot harder to do than they make it look in the movies. If you don't cut through all the right arteries the first time it can take several minutes for the person to die. It's a really long time when your life is bleeding out of you."

"A fitting end for someone like you," she hissed.

A triumphant gleam replaced his cautiousness — as if _he_ held the weapon and not her. "Or you could just stab me in the heart and be done with it. Slice right through my skin, right here on my chest. It would hurt just as bad." His eyes glittered cruelly. "But you already know what that feels like, don't you…"

His words found their mark with devastating effectiveness. Holding a weapon like this made her want to vomit and cry and scream all at the same time. Howling memories from her past demanded her attention and shrieked for his blood.

For a fleeting moment she pressed the knife tighter into Jackson's neck, wondering how easily the blade would slip through his skin. Had her rapist felt this sick power when he'd held a knife against her?

She pulled the blade away from Jackson's throat and sank it deep into the arm of his brown couch.

"Don't ever touch me again."

There were more words in that sentence than she'd spoken in her entire life.

Lisa backed away step by step, Jackson's eyes promising murder the entire way, until she was able to abruptly turn on her heel and slip out the door.

The walk back to her room became a hazy dream, but no matter how much time she spent locked away in her room it would take far longer for the lingering feeling of his lips against hers to vanish.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	14. Chapter 14

Something was off with Jackson. It bugged Affague because nothing was ever "off" about Jackson.

When he wasn't gone on an assignment, nearly every morning with Jackson was the same. He would come in a few minutes past nine-thirty for a brief update on contacts, targets and Company plans. He was always the last manager to come by in the mornings, long after the others made their appearances between seven and eight. He never had coffee. Affague had always wondered how he lived without it.

After their meeting concluded, Jackson would always take Affague's New York Times and work on the crossword puzzle. Without fail, he was able to fill the entire grid to capacity within ten minutes, after which he'd toss the paper back on Affague's desk. At that point he'd ask a few questions about the information they'd just gone over, pointing out potential flaws that might weaken their plans. Then he would leave to do what he was best at – making sure those flaws remained theoretical – and would often stop by in the evening to update Affague with his progress.

It always happened like that; but now, something was off. Affague didn't like it.

Before, Jackson would take time to refold the morning newspaper and replace the pen in its holder on Affague's desk. Now, the crossword was rarely completed when he left. Once he had actually muttered something about 'finishing it later.' He left both pen and newspaper on the coffee table. Jackson knew Affague hated crap being out of place in his office. Jackson didn't make careless mistakes like that. His usual evening visits occurred more sporadically, if at all.

The differences were subtle; a doctor might diagnose Affague with a mental disorder for even noticing. But the differences were there, and that's what made them dangerous.

Before, Jackson had flaunted his rank by casually hanging out in Affague's office. No one else ever hung around after meeting with Affague. No one.

Now, Jackson was _forcing_ himself to stay for the sake of appearances, except for the occasional days when Affague gave him orders involving a certain ex-colleague's daughter. These days, staying the obligatory ten minutes was out of the question for him.

Although it was entertaining to see how the girl affected him, she was also in a precarious position. She had managed to take his best agent down a few pegs – a feat that impressed Affague to no end – but he wondered if she was prepared to handle the slow, mentally and physically violent retaliation that Jackson had no doubt planned for her.

Judging by the man's completely self-satisfied smirk earlier this morning, said retaliation had already begun.

Jackson was a perfect manager — possibly the best the Company had ever seen. He was thorough and ruthless, a deadly combination in their business. Affague had watched as Jackson wore down seasoned men and had them whimpering beneath his stare in fifteen minutes flat.

He wondered how long the girl could stand the pressure. She'd handled it well before, on the plane. Still, even as Jackson slowly broke the girl down and shredded her to pieces, Affague could see her potentially having a permanent impact on Jackson. He just wasn't sure what kind of impact it would be. He was fairly curious to find out.

Right now, Jackson was doing an excellent job handling the case, always meeting his deadlines and providing useful information on a daily basis. He knew the consequences if he failed a second time.

As long as the girl didn't interfere with Jackson's work, Affague didn't see any reason to ruin his agent's fun.

:o:

:o:

:o:

"Where are you hiding?" Jackson muttered under his breath as he stood in the doorway to Lisa's room. He hadn't caught a glimpse of her since last night, when she had slipped away through his office door and left him with a bad mood and a hard on.

In the hours since that moment, the fucking kiss had not been a stranger to his thoughts. Thoughts of her mouth pressed against more parts of his body than just his lips had kept him awake late into the night.

Lisa was the most consistently perplexing woman he'd met in a long time. She was good enough to play him at his own game – not only that, but challenge him. Her spirit was refreshing, except for occasional lapses when it irritated the shit out of him. During those times, he wanted to break it – wanted to break her. Or maybe he just _wanted_ her – whether beside him in the car or moaning underneath him in his bed. He was interested to see how far he could push her. Hah — interested? He was fucking _addicted_.

It was a dangerous emotion. Whether she knew it or not, Lisa had more power over him than he cared to admit. She was a major influence, and interference, in his carefully ordered and controlled life. Her presence was an interesting change of pace, but often led to dark questions about his future that couldn't be easily answered. He didn't want to be associated with the Company for the rest of his life, but his work was a responsibility that he could not simply cast off and be rid of. Ironically enough, he'd worked too hard to be granted that burden in the first place. His contract had him chained to the Company for two more years, and quitting now would be the fastest way to an empty bank account and a strict ban of silence.

He wondered if he would ever tire of her, and both encouraged and dreaded the idea. But deep down, he knew: after the Keefe contract, no matter what he may have already told Lisa, he would see her again. Perhaps take a long vacation and steal her far away, maybe to the Bahamas. Visualizing Lisa in a sexy little bikini on the beach briefly assuaged his irritation at not being able to find her.

He left Lisa's room and took off at a brisk pace towards the kitchen. Maybe she'd be in there downing shots with Zhou. It would have been so easy that night to…. But he had held his emotions – most of them – in check.

The kitchen was empty. He rounded the corner down the hallway, stepping quietly into the movie room.

There she lay, twisted restlessly in a blanket on the black leather couch. She had fallen asleep in front of the muted plasma TV. There was no sign of alcohol or sleeping pills; she must have drifted off to sleep naturally.

It irked him. He liked to think he was a little more terrifying than that.

Nothing he couldn't fix.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa awoke with a frightened gasp when she felt a hand clamp around her jaw.

Her wide eyes drained of sleep at the sight of Jackson's unsmiling face leaning over her.

She fought off the lingering dream of a dark, lavish room—her bare, flushed skin laid across cool sheets—Jackson's lips hot and wet against her neck—something hard and male pressed intimately between her legs—

"Hi," she said tightly. What was going on?

Jackson's grip pinched her jawbones as he pulled her forward. The strain created an unnatural ache in her neck. She gripped the sleeve of his shirt to support herself, her other hand clutched in the blanket.

She sucked in her breath as his lips drew near – in fear or anticipation she truly didn't know. She was close enough to see the myriad flecks of blue in his pale eyes – eyes that looked flat and dead and terrifying.

"Don't ever threaten me with a knife again. Ever." He spoke softly, but the words were sharp and wicked. "Especially if it's mine. I will spill your blood without question."

His words almost caused their lips to brush. Lisa had to pull back from his grip lest she strain forward instead.

"Don't make your gun so hard to find then," she retorted. It sounded too breathless to carry much force.

He laughed quietly – why did he have to be so handsome when he smiled? – and intensified the moment by lightly dragging the tip of his thumb across her bottom lip. Lisa knew he meant the caress as an invitation – a promise – to a world of sensual darkness she didn't dare slip further into.

But the curiosity was there.

Jackson released her chin and gave her a slight shove to dislodge her hand from his shirt. "Put on your shoes. We're taking a drive."

His flippant dismissal of the charged moment replaced the thick, muffled mental wall between them.

"Banishing me back to Mexico?" she grumbled, sitting up on the couch and rolling her shoulders. "Or is it Canada this time?"

"We're staying in the neighborhood," he replied shortly. "You don't have clearance to go anywhere else."

Their familiar passive-aggressive bantering did little to calm her nerves, especially when he dropped revelations like _that_. She hated how control over her own life continued to be stripped away, like pulling out chunks of hair.

Lisa checked the clock. She had fallen asleep in the middle of a 'Clean House' marathon at least three hours ago. The show was so ridiculously removed from her present situation, it almost seemed unfair.

Jackson reached for the remote cradled against her thigh. She tried not to flinch when his fingertips grazed her skin where her shorts had ridden up while she slept.

_I kissed you yesterday._ Thinking about it created a tingling high in her stomach – a wonderful, dizzy feeling she hadn't experienced since high school.

He pressed the power button and tossed the remote back on the couch, the movement heavy with impatience.

Lisa ducked her head to look for her shoes – and to hide the smile growing at the corners of her mouth. It was childish, but right now her ability to irritate Jackson was really her only weapon against him.

Lisa slipped her feet into her black sandals, then stood and followed Jackson down to the garage. His dark blue Mercedes waited silently among the rows of cars. He gestured for Lisa to get in and then started the car.

He tested the engine while still in park and suddenly threw it into reverse, backed out of the parking space, put it in drive and slammed the accelerator to the floor in one fluid, practiced motion. Lisa couldn't help the small squeal that escaped her lips as they emerged into a bright, sunny day already going sixty miles an hour.

Jackson cut across the southeast edge of Orlando, navigating a four-lane road lined with strip malls and used car lots. The road was slowly overtaken by colorful suburbs, and suddenly lost half of its lanes when they passed through a final major intersection.

The two of them were silent, falling back into the uneasy tension that had permeated the long drive from Mexico. It was such a familiar setting for them, but so radically different now. The air between them felt electric. Lisa's breath caught every time he shifted his grip on the steering wheel.

She glanced into the backseat and saw the familiar blanket resting there, neatly folded. Jackson must have had it washed. Her thoughts drew tense memories of the man she had shot in the face two days ago. She wondered if his blood had stained it and quickly turned her head away.

Jackson pulled into a neighborhood several minutes later. The houses were spaced far apart and none of their garages opened towards the street. The yards were refined and very green. Tall, mature trees hung over the street, patching it in shade. Lisa didn't see any evidence of swingsets in the backyards, meaning the residents must be young professionals or older retirees. The whole place seemed private and unassuming.

Jackson parked on the side of a house that didn't stand out from the others. The garage lay open to their left, a pewter gray Porsche inside. As Jackson led her through the space, Lisa noticed that the garage was eerily devoid of clutter – no bikes, lawn equipment, extra cans of paint or motor oil or tacky pegboard full of power tools. Whoever lived here definitely didn't fit in with the typical residents of the neighborhood.

A door in the interior wall opened into a clean, white kitchen, which led into a large living room with a high, cathedral ceiling.

"Daniel," Jackson called, moving deeper into the house.

Lisa awkwardly followed him. "What is this place?" she finally asked.

She heard a surprised rustle from the living room, and a familiar young, tan face popped over the edge of the couch.

"Francisca!" yelled Marco.

:o:

:o:

:o:

"I never thought I'd see you again," Lisa confided to Pepita, Marco's mother, half an hour later. After her loud Spanish-drenched reunion with Marco, the young boy had been sent to play video games in his room. Lisa and Pepita were seated on the couch in the living room, while Jackson and Daniel, a Company agent, leaned against the kitchen counters and talked quietly.

"Why are you here in the US? I thought you had moved to Mexico City." Lisa's Spanish was a bit rusty, but the foreign words came more willingly with every passing sentence.

"We did. We were there until a few days ago." Pepita hesitated, and the young mother looked slightly ashamed. "Whatever you heard from the neighbors about us leaving… it was not exactly true. My mother did pass away, but… did Marco ever tell you about my sister, his aunt?"

Lisa shook her head. "No, never."

Pepita sighed. "Her name is Paloma. She lives in Miami. The last time I heard from her, she was dating a politician."

Lisa inhaled sharply as Pepita and Marco's arrival in Orlando suddenly made much more sense. Keefe's infamous mistress was Pepita's _sister_ — and Lisa had revealed Paloma's existence to the Company. The guilt almost made her choke, but it was Pepita who apologized first.

"Lisa, I am sorry. I saw your face on the television, and the news said you were connected with Keefe's assassination attempt. I thought you and your father had come to Cuidad Victoria to do harm to my family. That's why we left so suddenly. I should have known better. You didn't seem like one of… them."

"Is Paloma here with you?"

Pepita shook her head. "No, not yet. But once she arrives, I think these men are going to threaten her to work with them in exchange for our safety. I wish I could tell you more, but the less I know about their plans, the better."

"You've been treated well since you've been here, right?"

"Si."

"Have you tried to escape?"

"Where would I go?" Pepita replied sadly. Her eyes slyly flicked to the agent in the kitchen. "But Daniel has been very kind to us. Perhaps me especially. He is very handsome," she confided with a mischievous grin.

Lisa paused, recognizing the strange parallel to her own situation. "Are you and him… have you…?"

"No, no. Not yet. But I wouldn't tell a man like him no."

"A man like him? Pepita, he's a murderer," Lisa chided quietly. _Hypocrite!_ her brain screamed at her.

"Anyone can murder something, whether it is a life or a dream. His business is no concern of mine."

Lisa blinked – Jackson's industry was incredibly filthy, both physically and morally. How could Pepita disregard that so casually?

"Besides," Pepita continued, her words growing hard, "my worthless husband left me before I had even given birth to Marco. I've always wanted to hunt him down and make him regret it. Daniel promised to help me."

"You would have the father of your child killed?"

"I'd have him hurt as much as he hurt me. Haven't you ever hated someone so fiercely that you yearn for their blood to paint the dirt?" Pepita's eyes were nearly black, her face sour from angry memories.

Lisa wanted to open her mouth and smartly retort "no, of course not," but she shamefully dropped her eyes and wove her fingers together. The man who had raped her lurked in her thoughts. "Yes, but the bastard deserves it."

"They always deserve it," Pepita replied with a dark frown. She changed topics, her face brightening. "Tell me, is your father alright?"

"He's fine," Lisa replied diplomatically, unsure if Pepita knew about her father's connection to the Company. "He's on his way back to Mexico."

"Is he worried about you?"

"He used to be. Not anymore." Not since she'd killed someone. Funny how that, of all things, had helped her dad get past his over-protectiveness.

"Who is the agent that brought you here?"

Lisa lowered her voice. "His name is Jackson. He was the one who originally got me into this mess. Then he abducted me from Mexico and dragged me right back into it." _And I kissed him yesterday. _Lisa fought down the blush.

Pepita laughed. "And here I thought you two liked each other."

Lisa blinked in surprise and silent confusion.

Pepita tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen. "He has barely had his eyes off you since we sat down," she murmured, her words gentle.

Lisa glanced at Jackson – who chose that moment to look away – with a mixture of alarm and curiosity. "He's a pain in the ass," she muttered.

Pepita watched her reaction with a calm, sad smile. "When my husband abandoned me, I tore myself to pieces looking for the will to go on. Paloma had already left. My mother and Marco were the only reasons I pursued my existence. Sometimes we must lose ourselves in order to find the parts that really matter."

"I'm not sure I have any better parts worth finding," Lisa lamented with a rueful frown.

"You will discover them when you least expect it," Pepita assured her.

"Leese, we're leaving," Jackson called from the kitchen, his business with Daniel apparently finished.

The two women shared a brief hug.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

"Me too," Pepita said simply.

Lisa tried to swallow the words filtering onto her tongue, but she pushed them out mercilessly in one long rush. "I was the one who ratted out your sister. I worked at the Lux; I saw them there together. I'm sorry – Jackson forced me to tell him – I didn't…" She drifted to a stop, barely able to keep her sudden tears repressed.

Pepita's glance flickered to Jackson, standing nearby in the kitchen. Distrust settled into her eyes. Perhaps his and Lisa's strange relationship came into sharper focus. "Don't worry about me or my sister. We can take care of ourselves." It wasn't exactly forgiveness, but Pepita knew, better than most, that it was useless to regret the past.

"At least you still have Marco to terrorize you," Lisa added with a bashful smile.

They laughed quietly and said goodbye. Neither was foolish enough to pretend they'd see each other again.

Lisa followed Jackson out through the garage and back into the car, where the two sat in silence for a moment. Lisa looked over and found him staring at her.

"If anyone asks, you were never here."

His tone was incredibly serious; all she could do was nod in response. Satisfied, he turned the key in the ignition and they sped out of the neighborhood.

"I can't even tell my dad?"

"I'm not joking, Leese. I've done favors for you before, but this one could land me in deep shit."

"Why?"

"Only Affague, Daniel and myself know those two are here in Orlando. Anything involving the Keefe contract is at our highest level of security."

"How did you even know I was friends with them?"

"I know everything else about you, don't I?"

Lisa wrinkled her nose, miffed by his reply. "You are so incredibly arrogant."

"Part of my job."

"How did Pepita and Marco get here so fast? You only showed me the picture of Paloma yesterday." _I kissed you yesterday._

"We knew who Paloma was earlier this week, and had agents tracking Pepita not too long after. I just had to double check with you."

"I heard that getting people to do your dirty work by threatening to kill their families is sort of cliché."

"It's cliché because it works. People are always desperate to save someone when it matters."

"If anyone from the Company hurts Pepita or Marco, there will be absolute hell to pay."

"I'll pass that along," Jackson mocked.

"I mean it! Paloma is one thing. She willingly got involved with Keefe. But her family doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Leese, you know I can't make you any promises. I don't even know why you're asking. You understand how my business works."

"Then why have you made all those other exceptions for me?"

She knew she'd caught him off guard by his tense silence.

"You know what I mean," she said, pushing ahead dangerously. "Like buying me those clothes in Texas, and letting me talk to my dad yesterday."

"Don't question the favors I do for you, Leese." He meant it as much more than a suggestion.

"And even further back than that!" she persisted, talking over him. "Like when you bought me the Baybreeze at the airport bar and let me call my dad and use the bathroom on the plane! And when you didn't tell Affague what happened in there… you acknowledged that you'd done me all those favors against your better judgment. Why?"

"You really wanna know, Leese?" he sneered, his tone vicious. "It's because you're so pathetically out of your league here. Where do you think you'd be now if I hadn't been looking out for you?"

"So you feel _sorry_ for me? Is that what yesterday was?"

Jackson shot her an irate glare. "You have a lot of balls bringing that up right now. And for the record, _no_. Yesterday wasn't because of pity. I was…" He glanced out of his window and then back to the road in front of them, clearly agitated. "I was proud of you, Leese," he confided quietly, his eyes meeting hers in a flash of blue.

"Why, for murdering someone?"

"No, for fighting back. For finding a part of yourself that's not afraid to tell people to fuck off."

And what could she really say in response to that? Pepita's words rose to the surface, suddenly making sense in a different way. _Sometimes we must lose ourselves to find the parts that really matter._

She bit her lip and looked out the window.

They drove in silence for a long time.

"You looked hot when you were holding that knife."

Lisa could tell he had a cheeky grin on his face just from his tone. "You are unbelievably messed up in the head."

"I didn't shoot someone point blank in the face twenty-four hours ago."

"Do you ever stop harassing people? Look, I've already given you the information you wanted. Do I have to stay in Orlando?"

"Yes, on Affague's orders. Even though Keefe is as good as dead, the thought of you loose before he's been taken care of gives me a massive migraine."

Lisa's thoughts darkened when he mentioned Keefe. _The CIA is working to protect him,_ she reassured herself. _Ella and Sheila won't let anything happen._ "Why do you have to go through with Keefe's contract?" She sounded sulky, like she had already admitted defeat. _Toughen up, Lisa._

"Because we're getting paid."

"Money can't be the only reason."

He tilted his head, acknowledging her observant guess. "Our reputation is also at stake. If we cancel a contract without a damn good reason, word gets around that we're unreliable. Other agencies won't collaborate with us and would try to steal our business. It's a vicious industry, and being at the top only makes it harder to stay there.

"Besides, even if we refuse to complete the contract, that foreign woman – Ella – will simply find someone else to take out Keefe. Stopping us really doesn't stop anything."

_That's what you think._ Out loud she asked, "What if Keefe paid you double the amount of the contract to cancel it and have the Company protect him instead?"

"His contract is worth ten million. Do you think he has double that lying around?"

"Ten _million_?"

"We charge a lot because we rarely fuck up." Jackson gave her a meaningful glance. "His family was originally part of the deal, too."

"How many contracts do you go through in a year?"

"Better you didn't know, but you saw the binders in my office. Most aren't as high profile or expensive as Keefe's."

"What will happen to me after this contract over?"

"I really don't know, and as long as you're not giving away secrets that will put me in prison, I don't particularly care."

She scowled at him, troubled by how much his comment stung.

"What about my father? Affague won't kill him, will he?"

"I'm willing to bet you've never heard the full history behind those two."

Lisa delicately shook her head no. "What happened?"

"Why don't we get lunch somewhere."

"Is that your way of saying it's a really fucked up story?"

"Is that your way of saying you want lunch?"

"Fine. But I also want details."

:o:

:o:

:o:

Twenty minutes later Lisa was seated in a sturdy, cushioned chair, facing Jackson across a table drenched in a white tablecloth.

She knew the real reason they were here, but nervously picked at a string on the edge of her napkin. After last night, it felt too much like a casual date. They ordered when the waitress approached, and shared crab cakes as an appetizer. Lisa thought of the time she had refused to share a bag of gummy worms with him and fought back a weird smile. Jackson set down his fork first.

"They were unstoppable together," he began, abruptly latching on to her gaze. "Joe and Affague. Two people have never shared leadership of the Company before, but for them it was almost necessary. They had very different approaches to contracts. Joe pushed for discreet, more humane results. If there was no reason to kill someone, they lived. Affague was far more… dramatic. Contracts would turn into bloodbaths under his orders if Joe didn't intervene. Any contract that was requested to be high profile and messy were always Affague's jurisdiction. Joe took care of the more subtle, careful scenarios that required fine-tuning.

"Their methods were worlds apart but they managed to balance each other. For a while they had a friendly rivalry, but Affague corrupted their partnership. He was paranoid that your father would oust him and take sole control of the Company. Affague's fear caused things to go bad between them a few years back.

"Joe changed a contract behind Affague's back, which confused one of our employees and accidentally led to the death of a Company agent, a top manager. The guy had actually been my boss at the time. I got promoted while Joe got driven out.

"Their final argument took place in Affague's office. It's turned into a Company legend. Joe wanted the employee who fucked up spared, Affague wanted him killed. Joe put his foot down. Affague pulled out a knife and told Joe to either agree with him or leave. Joe laughed at him. And if there's one thing you don't do, it's laugh at Affague. He came after Joe with his knife, and Joe, I kid you not, pulled out his gun, shot Affague in the knee and announced he was retiring.

"And that's how it ended. That's why they're still so uneasy around each other. It's part of the reason you got dragged into the Keefe contract. Affague isn't above petty revenge."

"Clearly." The story also explained the origin of Affague's limp. She was proud of her dad for leaving that mark. Lisa finished the last bite of crab cake and carefully traced her fork tines across the empty plate. "Which of them did you like more as a boss?"

Jackson's eyes narrowed at the unexpected question. "Joe," he answered after a brief hesitation. "There's a reason everyone calls Affague by his last name. He demands that psychological distance. Joe wasn't such an asshole. I looked up to him as a role model, almost a father figure, in a way. He would have done a better job handling Keefe's contract."

"Look, Jackson. You already know I'm doing everything I can to save Keefe's life. I can't let him die, and you know my reasons, but at the same time your company is so… connected. And organized. Every day, a little more of my determination to save him is whittled away because there's so many things working against me and Keefe. Even my own father can't help me. _I_ can barely help me."

Jackson regarded her with fathomless blue eyes. He finally spoke. "If there's no one left to help you, you're on the wrong side."

:o:

:o:

:o:

"How goes the smuggling, Keefe?"

"Pat! Goddammit – I told you to never call me again!"

"Well, pardon the intrusion, old friend. I just thought we'd have a lot to, ah… _catch up on_. Perhaps you've reconsidered the dangers of your current lifestyle."

"I know you were behind the events in Miami, shithead, and your threats don't intimidate me. In fact, give me the number of the people you hired to kill me. I'll take _that _contract from you too."

"No, you won't. Not from these guys. I have the best working on my side. They don't cater to the highest bidder."

"The best. So that's why they failed to kill me?"

"You have a very dedicated hotel manager who got in the way," Pat replied. "She's been duly punished."

"This conflict is between you and me, and has been from the beginning. The Reisert girl died needlessly."

"Who says she's dead?"

There was a long pause.

"The news… They found that body dumped near the airport a few months back. I saw it personally."

"Well, I think you'd be pleased to know Lisa Reisert is still very much alive. You know, I dropped your family from the contract. See, I'm a nice guy. Thought that'd help you sleep easier at night. Although, perhaps I'll add Miss Reisert to the list. Can't let that money go to waste."

"I hope you rot in hell."

"It's always a pleasure talking with you, Charles."

:o:

:o:

:o:


	15. Chapter 15

The lack of windows in the Company's headquarters was slowly driving Lisa crazy. Even though she had her own private room, it was still little more than a jail cell. Other than the rare occasions when Jackson escorted her out of the building, the atrium was the only place she was allowed to go that had a view of the outdoors. However, the visit with Marco and Pepita had been almost a week ago, and since then there had been little to occupy Lisa's time. At least in the bright, glass-roofed atrium she could pretend, however briefly, that the clouds sprawling freely across the sky weren't really as far away as they often seemed.

Both yesterday and the day before, she had brought a small book with her to the atrium and read for several hours. A faux meeting area set up in one corner of the lobby provided a perfect spot to lounge with her book and discreetly observe the Company agents wandering past.

Half of them walked alone, their steps brisk and purposeful. The rest traveled more slowly in groups of two and three, occasionally sharing conversation but never speaking too loud.

A majority of them dressed in business casual, though the range of quality varied. The agents that dressed for field action didn't waste a grand on a nice suit that would just get ripped and bloody.

Nearly all of them were male. At one point, two female agents passed by dressed in killer black outfits and spiky pumps. Both had their hair pulled back into high, smooth ponytails.

They were the only ones, in all that time, who reacted to Lisa sitting in the corner of the atrium. She seethed in silence when one murmured something to the other and they shot hostile, measuring stares back at Lisa as they passed by.

Not that it really mattered.

Even if she felt incredibly out of place right now, she fought to stay positive about the future. Eventually she would be safely tucked into her familiar bed back in Miami, this nightmare long past.

Lisa wished she could talk to Sheila and find out what the CIA had planned. Would they infiltrate the Company's Orlando base soon, with help from Ella-Maria, the double agent? Or would they wait until the last minute, right as a gun was leveled to Keefe's head, to spring their trap?

She put the thoughts out of her mind, seeing as her worrying wouldn't accomplish anything one way or the other, and stood to leave for her room.

Just then, two figures entered her public haven and casually wandered among the plant life. One of the figures was devastatingly familiar. She knew it was him even from across the lobby.

He looked up and his blue eyes found her, nearly sought her out, and he slowly raised his hand and beckoned her over. There was a moment where Lisa could have turned away, ignored his stare and gone back to her room – but it passed, of course, because Lisa was too curious for her own damn good. Ever since that incredible moment in his office, something in her brain had gone wickedly haywire.

The person with him… Lisa both knew and dreaded who it was. From behind, she was incredibly exotic looking – wavy dark hair that tumbled halfway down her back, her tan hourglass figure accentuated by a bright blue dress and long, firm legs that sank into a pair of black strappy heels. When she turned around, Lisa was confronted by a lovely face and velvet eyes snapping at the intrusion.

"Jackson, who is this?" the woman asked.

Lisa's temper flared at the casual way she addressed him. The woman was an escort, obviously familiar with the ways of men, and Lisa couldn't help but feel threatened.

"I thought you would recognize her, Paloma."

The woman stared hard, eyes roaming across Lisa's face until her mouth formed a small 'oh' of surprise. "That Reisert girl. You tried to kill Charles. I'm not sure whether I should thank you or claw your charming little face off."

Paloma honestly looked like she could go either way. Lisa mentally anchored her feet to the floor.

"Jackson forced me into that," Lisa replied quietly. "I had nothing to do with the hit. I was a victim."

"But you're here now," Paloma shot back. "You're consorting with the people who planned it. If you were innocent then, you're obviously guilty now."

"A lot has changed since then."

"No one can change _that_ much."

"You'd know better than most. Still charging clients by the hour?"

Paloma blinked in astonishment at the blatant insult. Jackson barely covered his laugh with a timely cough, and when Paloma turned to glare he didn't bother to hide his amusement.

A blond man chose that unfortunate moment to approach them. It was the MIT graduate from the technology lab a few floors down. His name was Neil, Lisa remembered. He had scanned her hand when she first arrived at the headquarters.

"Is this a bad time, Jackson?" he asked, sensing the tension between Paloma and Lisa.

"No, it's fine. Please escort Miss Mungados back to her room, and then come meet me in my office," Jackson ordered cheerfully, his grin still lurking at the corners of his lips.

Neil inclined his head and led Paloma away. She turned and gave Lisa a final nasty stare. Lisa, equally pissed off, locked eyes with her until Neil said something and the foreign woman conceded with a haughty flip of her hair.

"Vicious," Jackson muttered from behind her. He turned, expecting Lisa to follow him.

"I know she doesn't have any reason to like me, but that was uncalled for," Lisa said, standing her ground.

"You handled it fine. Come on," he added, inclining his head toward the stairs. She bit her lip, still unsettled from Paloma's hostility, but fell into step beside him. They walked in somewhat companionable silence, the kind that brews in anticipation of when that silence ends.

Paloma's arrival at the headquarters meant several things to Lisa, most of them bad. The Company was one step closer to completing the contract. The CIA was one step closer to potentially taking out the Company with one swift kick to the nuts. Keefe was one step closer to being dead if everything went to shit.

Lisa was probably fucked no matter what.

Her spine stiffened when they entered Jackson's office. Right there, at the edge of his desk, she had made out with him barely a week ago. Time had done nothing to wear down the intensity of that moment in Lisa's thoughts. Her stomach clenched in apprehension when his dark eyes revealed his thoughts to be the same as hers.

Her feet scrambled backward for the door but her body hit it first, followed closely by Jackson's, and their combined force slammed it shut.

His right hand held down her shoulder; the other teased the strap of her black tank top and slid it to the side, partially revealing her scar.

"This shirt looks good on you."

"Get back!" She threw out her knee but he blocked it with the side of his leg, laughing at her feisty attempt.

"You weren't saying that the last time you were in here."

"I told you not to touch me, so how about you go find Paloma instead!"

"If you're jealous, Paloma already knows you're mine."

"I don't _belong_ to you – or to anyone!"

"I took responsibility for you, on multiple occasions. In a way, that makes you mine."

"I didn't ask you to do that. Ever."

"And if I hadn't, you would probably be dead right now. So I saved your life. And that still makes you mine." A smug smile touched the corners of his lips, and when he swept a tendril of hair off her face, his fingers lingered right by her cheek and the warmth of his hand was enough to set Lisa's heart pounding.

"You can't... you can't _own_ people, Jackson. That's not how it works in the real world."

"The real world doesn't have rules for people like me."

He tilted his face and Lisa knew he was about to…. when suddenly, their interlude was halted by a sharp double-knock on the door behind them.

Jackson exhaled in frustration. "It's Neil," he breathed, setting a light, possessive kiss against her temple. He slowly pulled away from the door and brought Lisa with him. She couldn't decide whether she was perturbed or grateful that Neil had interrupted the escalating moment.

"Go watch TV. He won't be here long."

_And after he's gone? What then?_ Lisa didn't voice the question, but anxiety pulsed all the way through her fingertips.

She walked toward the couch and noticed the gaping hole in the fabric. Her stomach twisted funny and she quickly moved to sit at the far end. She turned on the TV with the and aimlessly surfed channels, looking for another Clean House marathon.

Jackson invited Neil into his office and moved to lean against his desk. Neil glanced around for a seat, but Jackson offered him none and Neil was smart enough to realize what that meant.

"Sorry if I'm intruding, but I wanted to review the Keefe contract. It won't take long," he said, still holding the door open.

After a few seconds of silence, Jackson gestured for him to continue.

Neil glanced at Lisa, looking uncertain. "Should she be in here right now?"

"She's fine."

"But… that's against protocol if she stays, sir."

The silence was answer enough.

"Alright, whatever," Neil said. "But if Affague hears about it I'm not lying to him."

"I didn't ask you to."

"Alright, look." He closed the door carefully behind him. "The airport cameras have a dozen extra layers of security that will make hacking in an extra pain in the ass."

"It was Ella's choice, not ours. Keefe isn't staying there long, so you don't need to sustain the connection."

"Setting up a local feed at our Miami base _and_ a feed to Ella in Boston will take awhile once we're established down there." Neil's voice lowered. "Why does Ella want a live feed, anyway? We've never allowed a client that option before."

"We haven't fucked up this badly before."

Hearing this, Lisa's throat and stomach tightened, like a thick rope was being stretched taut between them. A live feed of Keefe's second assassination attempt would be invaluable to the CIA…

They discussed the airport security for several more minutes, but their lingo was code-like in its complexity and Lisa couldn't understand more than bits about connecting wires and routing servers. With the issue apparently resolved, Neil left, sliding out the door quietly like he'd never meant to be there.

Jackson sprawled on the couch next to Lisa and lifted his feet to rest on the coffee table. He took the remote and switched to a local news station.

"Is it part of your job to watch the news?" she asked, a little miffed that he'd changed the channel right as Niecy Nash revealed a sparkling clean home, Lisa's favorite part of the show.

"It's my job to stay informed."

On screen the pretty, blond newscaster formed a determined expression, mentally preparing for the next headline.

"An ongoing investigation into the Charles Keefe assassination attempt from earlier this year has revealed new information about the missile used in the incident. Fired at the Lux Atlantic from an offshore fishing vessel, the missile was illegally transported across US borders one week prior to the assassination attempt. Blame has been pointed towards the CIA's Department of Counterproliferation, which is responsible for tracking the movement of dangerous weapons around the globe. Patrick Hastings, Deputy Director of Counterproliferation, held a press conference earlier today in Virginia countering these accusations."

Lisa frowned. _Hastings._ Hadn't someone mentioned that name in the mall parking lot, when Sheila had been talking on her phone?

On screen, Hastings was standing rigidly at a dark podium, a half a dozen microphones speared at his face. A large government seal hung behind him, overbearing in its size.

"The missile was recovered from the ocean floor 500 yards from the Lux Atlantic," he said, his words fast and precise. "Its exact physical origin has not been determined, but we are currently following leads to the Middle East to find those responsible for its creation. Reports have confirmed that the missile was smuggled across US borders in a container disguised as fresh seafood."

"About time they figured that out," Jackson snorted.

"If a terrorist group has gotten their hands on advanced missiles and potential weapons of mass destruction, rest assured we will find them. We would like to remind the public that a very high percentage of incoming cargo shipments are scanned both before and after they reach the US coastline. It is an impossible task for our port officials to be one hundred percent thorough. We process hundreds of thousands of cargo shipments every day, and there's not enough time to check everything."

Lisa's blood went cold when a bizarre connection suddenly exploded in her mind.

_So much cargo, so little time…_

Keefe himself had used that phrase, while he was on the phone with that rude man…

…_so much cargo, so little time, Pat…_

Lisa's eyes jerked back to the screen.

Patrick Hastings, the text read. _Pat-_rick Hastings.

Oh dear Lord.

No—fucking—way.

It was the same rude man from the phone call she'd accidentally overheard at the Lux. The voices were similar, and there was that same heated impatience when Hastings snapped "No questions" at the end of the press conference and quickly cut off-camera.

"I was wondering when Hastings would own up to that missile the Russians left behind," Jackson remarked.

"You know him?" Lisa asked. It took all her concentration to sound casual and nonchalant.

"Know _of_ him. Hard not to, in my business. We don't handle smuggling directly, but we have to get certain types of weapons from illicit sources. A few years ago the port officals tried to seize one of our shipments, but our smugglers managed to get it through. Never told us how they did it, though they did mention Hastings has a terrible gambling problem. A few years back he stole a lot of money from the CIA's pockets to cover several high-stakes poker games. He must owe quite a few favors if he still has his job."

_Or he found a way to pay it back, until Keefe stepped in…_

Lisa's head spun from the implications of this revelation. She struggled to match up the dizzying web of lies and intrigue. Snippets of the conversation from months before started to knit together the facts with startling clarity.

"_It's not a game, Pat, it's a business deal – plain and simple. You were trafficking containers for three grand a pop and now I'm offering to do the same for one."_

"_What makes you think you can run this scheme better than I have for the past two years?"_

"_So much cargo, so little time, Pat. The port officials can't check everything. Especially if I tell them not to."_

Fuck. Fuck.

_Fuck._

Keefe was not safe. The CIA was not coming to save him. Patrick Hastings wanted him dead.

"You look awful, Leese. Hastings' speech about the missile scare you?"

She swallowed – hard. "I want to speak with Affague."

"That's not for you to decide."

"Then you need to go talk to Affague and cancel the Keefe contract."

"Oh, right. Easily done, Leese. Then we'll no doubt take the day off and go play Frisbee golf together."

"Jackson, you _have_ to convince him. You have no idea how important this is."

"What do you want me to do, Leese? _Help_ you? You're the last person I owe my allegiances to."

"But you do owe them to Joe – for a lot of reasons."

"I don't think you understand how this works. The only way this contract can be terminated is if Keefe dies, or if you bring me irrefutable proof that completing the terms of the assignment will bring harm, short or long term, to the Company."

"So say that, hypothetically, I already have proof…"

His eyes instantly flattened, becoming dark and unreadable.

"Then I'd hypothetical suggest we have a very, very serious conversation."

:o:

:o:

:o:

They drove to a park nestled deep within the suburbs of Orlando. The fierce midday August sun kept most people indoors and, besides a thin woman exercising with her dog, the park was deserted. Jackson parked in a far corner of the gravel lot and removed the keys from the engine.

"Why did we come all the way out here?"

"There are ears everywhere in that building. We need privacy."

Funny that privacy meant coming to a public place.

They walked into a nearby shelter, taking seats side by side at a picnic table. Jackson's car was parked in the lot behind them. A wide meadow bordered by dense trees stretched out ahead.

"So, Leese. Why are we here?"

The enormity of what she was about to say made everything seem disconnected and foreign.

"Patrick Hastings wants Charles Keefe killed, and I think he's going to use you guys as a scapegoat to cover his tracks."

Jackson scoffed and shook his head.

"Really Leese, is that the best you could make up? You almost had me going. I drove all the way out here because I thought you would at least tell me the truth."

Lisa's temper flared at his condescending tone. "Ella is just his front. You remember that cougar blond lady from the flight? Her name is Sheila, she's with the CIA, and she asked you for help with her luggage because she wanted to plant a bug on you. She's the one I met at the mall who tried to abduct me—"

"Slow down, Leese. How do you know she was really a CIA officer?"

"She showed me her badge."

"Did you hold it? See it up close?"

Lisa faltered. "Well, no. She put it away too fast. What does it matter?"

"It was probably fake. Real government badges are heavy, made out of metal. You have to check the name on it to make sure it was actually issued to her. You have to write down her agent number to double check it in a database."

"Will you at least give me a chance to tell you everything I know before you start taking shots at me?"

"No," he snapped. "Especially since you're wasting my time with a bunch of bullshit!"

"I'm not lying, Jackson!"

"Hearing about the Keefe investigation has gotten you all worked up. You just saw this guy on TV twenty minutes ago, and because he was talking about the assassination attempt and Neil was talking about it earlier you flipped out and decided you needed to find a way to save Keefe right that instant and dragged my ass all the way out here."

"You were the one who drove us here," she snipped. "Take me back to the headquarters and let me see Affague. He'll believe me. He'll take me seriously."

"Right now I'm the only one at the Company who is even remotely sympathetic to keeping you alive. You better get it through your pretty little head that the only reason you haven't been thrown to the wolves is because I said so. Five months ago, Affague asked me, in all seriousness, if you should be terminated at the end of the assignment. You want to hazard a guess at what I said?"

Her mouth suddenly felt sealed shut, her throat dry and scratchy.

" 'Wait and see' is what I told him Leese. Patience. One of the hardest rules to follow in this business. Did I expect you to die? Not really. Did I ever want you to? Yes, but honestly, who wouldn't if some bitch slammed a stupid looking pen into their throat. Thinking about that now still makes me gag, makes me want to swallow to make sure spit isn't leaking down the front of my chest.

"I didn't have any reason to dislike you, Leese. Tailing you for eight weeks… I wondered how someone like Joe could have raised a daughter so irritatingly boring. No affairs with married men at your hotel, no illegal addictions or weird fetishes—hell, the most risqué thing you did in those two months was buy a trashy romance novel off of Ebay."

She was completely helpless to prevent blood from flooding her cheeks. He smirked at her discomfort.

"You even had a gift card to Barnes & Noble, but you still couldn't buy a romance book in public. Like I said, you were innocent, you were cute. But now that you've been thrown into this ruthless environment, you've developed this irrational addiction to having any scrap of control that's thrown your way. And it needs to stop. Even if it's the only thing keeping your sanity intact right now, this misguided attempt to save Keefe's life is useless, Leese. To put it blunt as fuck, the man is already dead. We don't miss twice."

Lisa's eyes darkened at his insulting tone. "It's easy to sit there and berate me for having morals, especially when you willingly handed yours away for a paycheck a long time ago."

"And I still think it was a good trade."

A muffled explosion and a strange whooshing sound punctuated the end of his sentence, and suddenly a picnic table five feet away blew apart and scattered chunks of wood all over the floor.

Jackson immediately hauled Lisa off their picnic table and pushed them down into a crouch behind it. He pulled his gun from beneath his jacket.

Three heartbeats of silence ensued.

"What the heck was that?" Lisa whispered, her tongue dry.

Jackson hushed her; a sharp, impatient sound that frightened her.

They heard staccato pops in the distance as more shots were fired. Bullets whizzed past overhead. Some nicked tables and posts but most harmlessly scattered behind them into the park. The close press of nature muffled the sound, but Lisa's own heavy breathing did not dissipate so quickly.

The gunshots sent her thoughts reeling back to that day in the mall parking lot. Her stomach rolled violently. She hoped the woman and the dog were okay.

"Motherfuckers," Jackson swore quietly. A few pieces of raven dark hair had fallen across his forehead, partially concealing his eyes but not the ferocity that burned there. "Whoever just did that is having their throat slit when I find them."

"At least they didn't hit us."

"At that distance, it's odd they missed," Jackson replied, his face overtaken by a rigid mask. "We're making a run back to the car. You can finish your fairytale somewhere safer."

Lisa barely managed to ignore that last comment. "We'll get shot at again!"

"No, I'll distract them. Just move fast."

"You're crazy if you think—"

He squeezed her wrist. "Chill out and I'll explain in a minute. Until then, get your ass in that car." His eyes had ceaselessly been searching the horizon, but just then they locked solid with hers. She knew he was waiting for confirmation of his plan and threw up her hands.

"Whatever. If I die, everyone at the Company is screwed."

"So melodramatic," Jackson said calmly, but it sounded a little forced. Perhaps her warnings were finally getting to him.

Another round of shots passed through the shelter, this time hitting several more picnic tables and shattering a light bulb directly overhead. Glass fragments pelted her hair.

"Alright, go!" Jackson dragged Lisa to her feet and shoved her into a sprint. He opened fire in the general direction of their assailants, providing meager cover while they took off towards his car.

Lisa cursed her flip-flops as she skidded across the gravel lot at full speed. If she had known her choice of footwear would be involved in a life or death situation later that day, she probably would have taken the time to lace up her sneakers.

Right as she heard more dreaded gunshots in the distance, the strap on her left flip-flop snapped from the strain of running. The shoe tangled up in her toes and her momentum overwhelmed her body. She fell to her hands and knees and cried out as the rocks bit into her skin.

The car sat patiently, not more than ten feet away. She scrambled to her feet, aided by Jackson's hand pulling at her elbow, and slipped again but landed with her palms smack on the car window. Lisa frantically grabbed the door handle and fell inside, hunkering down in the seat once she'd slammed the door shut and punched down the lock.

Jackson fell in beside her a long minute later, gun in his left hand and keys in his right. He started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, engine and tires roaring from the force. He drove fast through the suburbs, rolling multiple stop signs on the main road that led back to the city.

"You are absolutely insane," Lisa scowled. "It's a miracle we weren't killed."

"No it wasn't. Their shots were too far off."

"You would know," Lisa grumbled.

"Quit with the insults. I'm only considered a bad shot by industry standards. I meant they weren't actually aiming to hit us. They just wanted to scare us back to the car."

"Because public parks are prime locations for gang territory warfare?"

"No, because they put a short range tracking unit on my car before they opened fire. Sloppy job too, it's barely wired on underneath the bumper. They're going to try to follow us back to headquarters."

"But you can't lead them there."

"No, I can't. And that's why we're going somewhere else."

Jackson lurched the wheel – _hard_ – to the right, and Lisa's head went with it. The tires squealed and spit off rubber, securing purchase against the pavement until the car took off down the street. The sudden acceleration pressed Lisa against her leather seat. She groaned and rubbed the knot forming on her scalp.

"You might want to buckle up," Jackson commented. He eyed his rearview mirror. "That's them. The white SUV."

"How can we get away from them if they're tracking us with GPS?"

"Like I said, they did a bad job installing it on my car. If I scrape the undercarriage the right way it'll be detached. That's why they're following us so close. They know they fucked up. But it's still too risky to stay in this car. We have to stay out of their sight and make a switch."

The colorful neighborhoods had given way to strip malls and fast food places. The SUV still pursued them closely. Jackson swerved around a slower vehicle and ran a red light, earning a chorus of honking and middle fingers. He spun the wheel and drifted around a corner, manipulating the brakes with an expert foot.

The white SUV ducked around a taxi and followed relentlessly.

Jackson slammed the accelerator, effortlessly pulling the car forward three blocks and around another corner onto a divided highway.

Lisa spun in her seat right as the white SUV clipped the back end of a four-door sedan passing through the intersection. The smaller car veered across multiple lanes and crumpled helplessly against a hatchback. The SUV skidded into a controlled spin, the driver fighting to keep the vehicle from rolling.

Lisa gasped when a second white SUV appeared from behind the first. "There's another one still following!"

Jackson glanced in the mirror and cursed.

"Do you know where you're going?" Lisa asked.

"Well enough," he replied, distracted by a sign that read 'Downtown Orlando.'

"Do you even know who's chasing us?" she probed, though she privately had a very good guess of who it was.

"It could be any number of people I've pissed off over the years." He reached up toward the sunroof button and held it while the glass slowly retracted.

"Would you mind putting some bullets in their windshield for me?"

"Excuse me!?" Lisa yelled in shock over the wind swirling through the car's interior. She was reminded of the rainstorm during the drive back to Orlando.

"Here, use this." He thrust his gun into her unwilling grip. "Just stand up, aim towards their car and pull the trigger twice. It will only shatter the glass, it won't kill anyone."

"Jackson, you can't seriously fucking ask me to… Not after last week, not after that mess in the parking lot!"

"Lisa, you have to do this," Jackson explained in an oddly patient tone. "I need to turn soon, and if that car is still behind us we're screwed. Unless you want to try switching seats with me while driving 85 miles an hour, get your ass up there and shoot out their windshield."

"Fuck you," she growled, twisting in her seat and standing up.

"That's my girl," she heard him say right before the wind caught hold of her ears.

The white SUV was about thirty yards ahead of her, technically thirty yards behind Jackson's car. They had almost reached downtown and buildings whipped past at an alarming speed. She lifted the gun in one hand, but the air streaming past nearly ripped it out of her grasp. She ducked lower and reconfigured her grip, holding the gun with both hands while her elbows formed a makeshift tripod on the roof of the car.

She aimed and the next ten seconds became a blur.

She remembered thinking the distant SUV's windshield was actually a rather large target, and with that promising thought she let an experimental round of bullets fly. The windshield instantly spider-webbed into an opaque mess of jagged cracks. The driver hit the brakes so hard the tires smoked up. He maneuvered the car to the side of the road, safe from passing – albeit bewildered – traffic.

Jackson made no acknowledgment of her success other than to close the sunroof and retrieve his gun once she sat down. Adrenaline still tingled in the tips of her fingers.

He was avidly reading every passing sign, and turned right underneath one that read "Public Parking 24 hrs." The car was washed with darkness and cool, damp air.

The ramp lifted them higher into the garage at a consistent angle, like a rollercoaster right before the first big drop. On the sixth floor, Jackson neatly tucked the dark BMW between two white moving trucks.

They exited the car. Jackson dropped to his knees to inspect the undercarriage for the tracking device.

"This is our hideout?" Lisa asked skeptically.

Jackson's no-doubt snarky reply was cut off when squealing tires echoed up from the first floor of the parking garage.

Jackson jumped to his feet, grabbed her shoulder and propelled her towards a corner. "The stairs, go!"

The two careened downwards in a jerky spiral. Lisa felt like she was falling more than stepping, her feet not making any logical sense with each other since one was bare.

Her heel missed the edge of a step and she stumbled wildly. Jackson grabbed her arm, saving her an instant before her head would have dashed against the grimy concrete wall.

Lisa heard a door slam far above them just as they were rounding the final bend. Angry voices reverberated through the tower.

"Watch the streets! We found the car! They're in here!"

Jackson shoved through the glass door on the bottom floor and paused to catch his bearings on the busy downtown Orlando street. He set their pace at a brisk walk away from the garage.

A man wearing dark sunglasses caught sight of them and followed in pursuit. He made the mistake of removing his glasses, attempting to catch a better look at their faces, and the sudden exposure to the sun caused him to build up a mighty, uncontrollable sneeze.

Before the man could recover, Jackson made a quick hand gesture – and in the flash of an eye a taxi had scooped the two of them up off the street and out of existence.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	16. Chapter 16

The address Jackson gave to the taxi driver belonged in an affluent part of the city, close to downtown but a respectable distance away from rowdy nightlife. The cabbie stopped in the wide circular driveway of a stone and glass building. Lisa stepped out of the cab and curiously glanced skyward, where the mirrored windows towered several stories overhead. The sun strained her eyes and seared strange vibrating shapes across her vision. She was partially blind while Jackson ushered her into the building.

The clean lobby housed entrances to two businesses; a spa and a computer hardware company. The smells of sandalwood and coffee vied for dominance in the open space. The floor was plated in black marble with cream and white veins, and polished to a high gleam. Giant vases filled with tall, graceful lilies punctuated the corners of the lobby

There was an elevator on the far wall. The heavy metallic doors were smooth and shiny, but when they opened Lisa's reflected face looked foreign and turbulent as it slid across the surface. Inside, Jackson punched in a password and pressed the button for the tenth floor. Once the elevator started moving he sprawled comfortably against the rails in one corner. Lisa stood opposite him, tense arms wrapped around her torso. She was still missing a shoe.

The electrical hum died off. A gentle ding announced their arrival.

On the wall opposite the elevator, a framed mirror hung over a black end table inlaid with mother of pearl. Outside the doors was a hallway, extending both ways and housing three unmarked doors on either side. Jackson turned left and walked to the very end of the corridor where it ended in a black door.

Lisa followed hesitantly. She wondered whom they were visiting, and whether they were seeking shelter or simply assistance. How long would they have to be on the run until they could safely return to the Company's headquarters?

Jackson entered a nine digit number on a small touchscreen mounted in the wall; then unlocked the door with a physical key pulled from his pocket.

"What is this place?" Lisa asked.

"An apartment."

"Whose?"

Jackson hesitated briefly before throwing the door wide open.

"Mine."

:o:

:o:

:o:

Stepping across the threshold into Jackson's loft apartment was like entering a dream.

She stood in a small entrance foyer, closed in by a closet on one side and a dark beige wall on the other. It opened into a spacious living room, filled with chrome and glass and dark leather furniture. On the far side were two large windows, which would have let in late afternoon sunlight had the blinds not been closed. A sliding glass door, also covered to prevent prying eyes, was situated between them and probably led out to a balcony. The hardwood floor felt cool beneath her bare foot.

Jackson spoke quietly from behind her. "You're the only person who's ever been here besides me. Not even Affague knows where this place is."

"Why?" she asked, slightly spooked by this revelation.

"Security. So if the Company were compromised in some way, I would have a place to run where I would never be found."

The sound of the front door closing behind her was like many doors shutting at the same time. A chill ran up her spine and spiked the hairs on the back of her neck.

Jackson deadbolted the lock and passed by her to switch on some lights. He navigated with a familiar grace through the apartment while Lisa's thoughts raced. Knowing the Company's resources, there were bound to be a number of places in Orlando set aside for disappearing and laying low. If this was his own personal space, why had he risked bringing her here? Every passing moment with Jackson drew her deeper into his world, down an increasingly steep incline that offered no easy path back to the surface.

She kicked off the lone flip-flop and moved deeper into the apartment.

A hallway branched off from the living room to her left, but it was unlit and Lisa could only distinguish a few doors, none of them open. To her right, a gently curved island covered with flecked granite separated the living room from the kitchen. All of the appliances were black and silver. Thin, graceful lights suspended from the ceiling, their placement following the curve of the island.

Beyond the kitchen, in the back right corner of the large, open room, sat a glass top table and four metal chairs. She sat down and anxiously threaded her fingers.

Jackson returned from his quick sweep of the apartment and tapped out a message on his phone. It rang a moment later and he quickly answered.

"Sir. Yeah, we're underground. Both of us. Our position won't be compromised."

The curt voice that replied sounded like Affague. He sounded pleased but stressed.

"My car is at the South Street parking garage. It needs to be recovered and stripped. I need a new one delivered to the airport long term parking in the usual spot—"

Affague cut him off with harsh words. Jackson's eyes narrowed.

"Tomorrow," he repeated flatly. "In the afternoon. Right." Lisa's stomach crushed into an unpleasant knot.

Jackson ended the call and tossed the phone on the kitchen counter, next to a laptop bag.

"One of our contracts got fucked up. Everyone is working overtime on it. I won't have a car until tomorrow."

"So… we're staying here tonight?"

His grin was perfectly even, but Lisa saw the wicked, hungry edge seared into his eyes. "Does that scare you?"

_Yes._ "I'll manage."

Jackson rummaged in some cabinets and then set down a small glass in front of her. It was halfway filled with amber liquid. She glanced up to meet his blue gaze, a question already forming on her lips when he answered.

"It's brandy. It won't taste good. Drink it."

"I don't need this."

"Yes, you do. You've look terrified since the moment you stepped through my door. Drink it and chill out a bit."

_Yeah, because drinking when I'm alone with you is a real smart move_.

"What would you like for dinner?" Jackson asked, opening some more cupboards. "I have… Pasta-roni and macaroni and cheese." He sounded disappointed. "Guess I haven't stocked up on food in awhile."

"When was the last time you were here?"

He sat next to her at the kitchen table, sipping his own glass of brandy. "Before the Keefe contract. I can never get away from work for more than a day or two."

"Then tell Affague you need a vacation. I mean, after you messed up the Keefe contract you're obviously slipping." She said this with a straight face, since she couldn't really decide whether she was teasing or being rudely serious.

Jackson stared hard at her for a long minute, wondering the same thing, and must not have liked the answer he read in her eyes.

"Do you walk into buildings and automatically scan the ceiling for security cameras? Have you ever judged a group of people and decided in a _split-second_ which one you'd kill first? Have you entered a room and wondered if you would leave while your heart was still beating? I've done all that and much, much worse. I've orchestrated hundreds of deaths for unfortunate people who've nothing but piss off the wrong person. All things considered, I don't think I'm a very good person to fuck with."

"My mistake."

"You're lucky it's not your last."

Lisa laughed – a harsh, clipped outburst that conveyed anything but joy. "Strange how my luck comes back to me here, of all places."

She downed the entire glass of brandy in one long, paced sip. It sank into her empty stomach and made her skin sweat from the inside. Reminders of Jackson's violent past – and the moments when he'd brought that violence directly into her life – still freaked her out.

Jackson watched with dark, silent eyes. "You don't know the first thing about me," he mused.

"You kill people for money and profit off of misery. Why would I want to know more?"

But her inner curiosity had been kindled, and it rapidly peaked when he replied, "I'll tell you anyway.

"I was born near Boston, an only child. My mother had severe head issues and a slew of other illnesses. My father's job was illegal but made enough money to pay my mother's hospital bills and keep her alive. She was the only thing in his life that mattered. Growing up sucked. My mother didn't know who we were half the time, and whenever she did something really psycho my father took it out on me.

"When I was seventeen, my mother was given two months to live and my father went crazy. Threatened all of his business partners, made a lot of enemies in a short amount of time. Everything just sort of came apart.

"One night men showed up at our house. I knew they were there to kill my father, but it was my parent's anniversary, the last one they would ever have, so they'd gone out to the city to have dinner. I refused to tell them where he was. I was just a fucking stupid kid… They almost drowned me in the kitchen sink, and when I still wouldn't talk they stuck my fingers down into the garbage disposal and threatened to turn it on.

"Compared to what I've lived through now, that wasn't shit for torture. But at the time, it was enough. I sort of… snapped. The knife drawer was right next to the sink..."

Jackson paused, wild memories playing through his eyes. Lisa knew this part of his story was no doubt a bloodbath, but Jackson glanced at her and the emotions slowly softened and drained away.

"Long story short, I killed them. Remember that anniversary present I told you about on the ride back from Mexico? I took the cash from the thug's wallets and left a note telling my parents to get out of the country. I didn't want to go with them. I didn't have a passport. I told them to send a postcard to the address I'd left in the note so I'd know they were safe.

"A postcard showed up in the post office box a week later, inside a plastic bag in an unmarked envelope. It was drenched in blood.

"I was seventeen. The day I should have graduated high school, I got on a Greyhound bus and ended up in Miami; fell into some really dark times.

"It was your dad – Joe – who found me high and half dead in a back alley. I tried to knife him but he broke my wrist. At the time the Company headquarters were in Miami, so he took me there and recruited me once I was coherent enough to talk. He said anyone who could be alive after what I went through must be one hell of a fighter."

He laughed at the troubled look on her face. "What, you thought your parents settled down in Miami for the nice weather? Because they liked the beach? Joe has been a part of the Company for so long it predates _you_. You still don't understand what a powerful guy he was, Leese. He did great things in his time – stuff you've seen on the news and talked about with Cynthia."

All of her usual arguments about her dad's career and the years of lies suddenly seemed tired and worthless. She twirled her empty glass. "It feels like all of my memories with him are tainted."

"They shouldn't. He shared more of his life with you and your mom than he ever shared with me… or the Company."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at his odd phrasing. Jackson had once told her that Joe was like a father figure. He'd had to share Joe all the years he knew him, knowing he would never be part of a true family again.

Jackson took a sip of brandy. "The first time he showed me a picture of you – long before the Keefe contact – he told me about your promotion at the Lux and how proud he was of you. Still is, obviously. You shouldn't give that up."

He moved his hand toward her, fingers meant to softly touch her own, but the sudden intimate gesture made her withdraw her hand into her lap so he couldn't reach her. She hadn't meant to react so fiercely, but Jackson's hand had already dropped back to the table. The familiar stormy eyes were locked in place.

"I have to use the bathroom," she supplied as a delayed, completely lame excuse.

He nodded at the hallway and stood to pour another glass of brandy. "It's on the right," he said, his voice cool and detached.

She passed through the corridor, fingertips trailing along the cool wall. Behind the lone door on the right was a long countertop inset with a deep sink. A spotless mirror covered the wall, ending only when it met the edge of the shower. The floor was covered with large gray slate tiles. Underneath the counter, black cabinets hid a box of gauze and medical tape. It was clear he didn't spend a lot of time here, much less have guests.

Lisa shut the door and splashed handfuls of cold water on her face.

Hearing about Jackson's past had partially transformed him from a ruthless, cutthroat bastard into a real human being, one who had a tragic history far worse than anything Lisa had ever experienced in her life. She had seen human sides of him before, even when they were threaded discreetly through his actions and nearly impossible to detect. Being enlightened – burdened – with the story of his tortured past and the difficult choices he'd made reminded her above all else that he was not some being created from dark mythic forces – he was simply a _man_, albeit one who alternately set her heart racing through uncontrollable fear or excitement.

Her refusal to accept his touch had been a major insult, at a moment when he'd been more open and truthful with her than any time in recent memory.

But she wouldn't apologize. There were already too many words between them to make room for that.

Lisa smoothed down her hair with the remaining drops of water that clung to her hands, and opened the door to return to the kitchen. However, an errant glance down the hallway made her turn away from the living room, curious about the door at the very end of the hall that was slightly ajar.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Jackson couldn't see her snooping around, and cracked the door a fraction wider to peer into the room.

It was his bedroom. The shades were closed but emitted a soft evening light, enveloping the room with a deceptively tranquil ambience. The walls were painted a dusty steel blue. The furniture was big and dark and masculine in a way that intimidated her. His bed was unmade, like he'd had to leave in a hurry the last time he'd slept there. The room felt very still, as if waiting for some crucial moment to arrive so its dark peace could finally be shattered from silence.

She had an enormous feeling of déjà vu, like she'd somehow been in this room before. There was no way that was possible, but the idea was so inexplicably rooted in her subconscious that she got caught up analyzing the strange memory, even while it slipped away through her thoughts like a liquid dream.

"This isn't the bathroom," Jackson said from behind her.

She jerked against the doorframe in surprise.

"I know…" She sounded quiet, guilty.

He was blocking the hallway behind her. She waited for him to move aside, but for a heart stopping moment she realized how easily he could push her back into his room and onto his bed…

"You look pale."

"I don't feel safe."

"You mean getting chased by those guys in the park?" — _No, I meant I don't trust myself when I'm alone with you_ — "They lost our trail back by the parking garage. They won't bother us again, whoever they were."

"I know who they were," she said softly, glancing up to see his reaction.

He scowled, the action pursing his lips in anger, but the curious tilt of his head betrayed his interest. "Back to this again, are we?"

She stubbornly stared him down until he relented and walked back to the kitchen table. She followed and took a seat while he refilled their glasses with brandy, more than last time.

"I hope you realize how serious this is," he said. "This goes beyond all the other times I've put up with your bullshit. This is an official allegation in accordance with strict Company policy, and that's something neither of us are allowed to fuck around with. Understand?"

She lifted a shoulder in simple reply.

"Fine. I'm going to record the conversation." He retrieved a device from the pocket of his jacket, then removed the jacket and slung it across the back of his chair. He settled into a comfortable position – left ankle across his right knee and a few buttons on his shirt undone.

Lisa sat upright, rigidly, hands folded tightly in her lap so they wouldn't fidget.

"Alright," Jackson began, fiddling with the recording device. "First I have to go through this official spiel to try and scare you. Just be honest."

"I had planned on it."

"I'll know if you lie. You ready?"

She nodded once, sharp and quick.

Jackson took a long drink of brandy and turned on the recorder. "Lisa Henrietta Reisert—"

She scowled at the ostentatious use of her middle name, and Jackson's smirk briefly colored his tone.

"Do you have information regarding the Charles Keefe contract, first filed with the Company in fall 2004?"

"Yes."

"Does this information have the ability to affect the operation of the Company, whether through short or long term damage?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand the penalty should your information be deemed inaccurate or knowingly manipulated? It's death," he added helpfully when she paused.

"Um, sure. Yeah."

"Then please proceed at your convenience."

She drew a deep breath, suddenly frightened in the presence of the recorder. Her thoughts skipped around and jumbled her carefully ordered timeline.

Jackson recognized her nervous pause and switched off the recorder. His ankle dropped off his knee as he leaned forward.

"Leese," he spoke quietly, his normally impatient tone blended strangely with compassion. "I don't know if what you're about to tell me is the truth, but you asked for this opportunity and here it is. Talk as long as you need to. I'll try not to interrupt you. Just… talk like you're telling everything to your dad. Or Cynthia. We have all night."

The reminder of where she was and how long they'd be there alone rattled her even further, but Jackson had given her this one chance to come clean and she couldn't mess it up. She took a deep, shaky breath and nodded at Jackson. "Turn it back on."

He complied.

"I've kept a lot hidden from you," she began. "I really don't know where to start."

"The beginning," Jackson said, frowning.

"The beginning… I guess it would technically start with Patrick Hastings. I know why he still has his job with the CIA. Hastings was running an illegal smuggling racket. He charged three thousand dollars per weapon in exchange for hassle-free transportation through the US border. The port officials would get a cut for ignoring the containers that held those weapons. That's how Hastings was able to pay back his gambling debt to the CIA. It's also how your smugglers got that weapon shipment past him a few years ago.

"When Charles Keefe was promoted earlier this year, he found out about Hastings' gig and undermined him. He only charged the smugglers a thousand per weapon. I don't know why Keefe got involved, other than he was the new Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security and probably didn't like Hastings running this scheme on his turf.

"Hastings got pissed, obviously. He's the one who wanted Keefe and his family killed, in retaliation for getting in his way. Ella isn't who you think she is. She's just a front for Hastings. Her real name is Maria. The Russians were brought in to add another layer of secrecy.

"Um.. I already told you about Sheila back in the park. The blond lady who claimed to be a CIA agent. Come to think of it, I probably saved your life by sticking you with that pen. Sheila would have tried to apprehend you once we'd exited the plane because you were probably intended to be Hastings' scapegoat the first time around."

Jackson's unhappy expression told Lisa she'd hit a sore spot.

"Anyway, Sheila got a phone call from Ella-slash-Maria while we were in the parking lot, the day I … the day I shot that man and you—" _kissed me_ "—brought me back to the Company headquarters. Maria called right before I realized Sheila was trying to kidnap me. Maria was screaming so loud I could hear her from two feet away. The accent was unmistakable. She called me 'that Reisert bitch' and was furious with me, although I never found out why. Sheila was totally thrown by the call and dropped Hastings' name. She referred to him as a boss in some way. Sheila also talked to a man for a second. I don't know who he is."

Lisa paused, unsure of which piece of her story to unravel next.

"If I were Hastings, I would wait until the moment you'd assassinated Keefe. Then I'd swarm the place with my people, capture any Company agents I find and wring them for information, enough to get leads straight to the headquarters and the rest of your men. Then I would use the video feed of Keefe's second assassination attempt against you in court, not to mention all of Maria's conversations with Affague.

"Hastings would have enough ammunition to put you all in prison for life, and you would never even realize that he was the one who had betrayed you in the first place. Hastings would be reprimanded for letting Keefe die, but he's in the perfect position to pass the blame and lie his ass off until everyone he declares responsible for Keefe's death is out of his way for good.

"That's why you need to cancel this contract. If Hastings and his group get involved any deeper, it will be worse than causing short or long term damage to the Company. There won't _be_ a Company. So that's the truth. Take it or leave it, but I've been hiding it long enough."

And finally, after talking for five solid minutes, Lisa ran out of words.

Jackson sat perfectly still for a long, silent moment. His bright eyes clearly showed the furious pace of his thoughts as he processed her story and its implications. Was he really surprised enough to let his guard down so completely? Or by this point could Lisa simply read him better than she used to?

His eyes suddenly snapped into focus on his brandy and he finished his second glass in another long swallow.

He looked at her, and with an icy jolt she realized she could no longer see into his thoughts. His face was all closed up and flawless – just like that mask he'd worn throughout the red eye flight. It was an empty, dead look that made her skin feel like it had been preemptively stripped off and her fate was in no way negotiable.

"How long have you known all this?"

His voice was terrifying in its calmness. It was the first thing he'd said after she'd stumbled to an awkward halt over a minute ago. The vague question confused her.

"Known about the CIA being involved? Well, since the mall with Sheila. I guess a week ago. And Hastings, I just figured out earlier today."

"Keefe," he clarified impatiently. "How long have you known about Keefe smuggling weapons?"

"I already told you. Earlier this year, before the red eye flight."

"And you've kept this information entirely to yourself until now?"

She didn't like his tone or the angry edge to his eyes, and didn't respond.

"You are so fucking stubborn," Jackson went on, snapping off the recording device. "Keefe is a man you owe no favors to, whom you _knew_ was corrupt even before I ever came into your life – and yet you still protected him, _lied_ for him, all without any guarantee that he'd have your back when shit hits the fan."

"Jealous I wouldn't do the same for you?"

"You _have_ lied for me, on several occasions," he shot back. "But it's Keefe that I'm talking about. Were you having an affair with him?"

The question was so unexpected her jaw simply dropped. "What?" She laughed, completely thrown off by the question. "With Keefe? God no, that was all Paloma's territory. Me and Keefe… no, my god, no way… Why the heck would you think—"

"Then why are you so hell-bent on saving him?"

"To save _me_! That's been my goal from the very beginning, and look where it's gotten me! For all my trouble, I'm sill on the verge of losing – god, everything. Slamming that pen into your throat was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done in my entire life. I mean, Keefe and his family would have been blown apart, and I would have ended up a sobbing wreck for a few months, but I'd still have my job and my apartment, and be ignorant of my father's involvement with the Company and I wouldn't have to deal with _you_ all the time—"

"You're lying. When you look back at all this someday, you'll want to be able to say you did everything you could to save Charles Keefe. You wouldn't be happy with yourself if you knew you had let it happen, that you'd let yourself become a victim of circumstance. And you know what? On that plane, you fought with every ounce of determination you had and you won."

At another point in time, Lisa would have been thrilled to hear that confession fall from Jackson's lips; but at present, the achievement felt trivial and worthless.

"No, I really didn't, because Keefe's contract still hasn't been canceled. Why aren't you calling Affague, after everything I just told you?"

"One; because it's pure convenience for you if our agendas ever coincide. Two; you don't have any evidence to back up your story, and Affague will thoroughly rip you to shreds because of it."

"I have proof. With me."

"That's charmingly convenient," he sneered.

"Go get your laptop."

He retrieved the computer from the counter and brought the entire bottle of brandy with him. He drank straight from the bottle while the laptop booted up.

Lisa stood and pulled a small thumbdrive out of her pocket. She tossed it across the table to him.

"Neil made this for me. I accidentally overheard a conversation between Keefe and Hastings earlier this year, when I was working at the Lux. They were both talking about the smuggling deal and that's how I found out about it in the first place. At the time, I didn't know whom Keefe was really talking to. He just called the guy Pat. I only made the connection with Hastings earlier today, when I saw him on TV.

"My office phone had the ability to record calls, so I saved the conversation and protected it with a password. Last week I asked Neil to hack into the Lux's phone system and retrieve the file for me. This is the whole thing."

Jackson listened to the file with rapt attention while an undeniable spark of truth began to seep into Lisa's confession. For the first time, he looked unsettled. His eyes darted around the computer screen in agitation. The recorded conversation cut off after Hastings had cursed and disconnected. Jackson's foot nervously tapped the floor.

"Fuck, Leese. You were serious."

She had planned on saying something tart and smug, but found she couldn't commit any arrogance to her words.

"I'm not telling you all this just to save Keefe. Like I said, I'm trying to save my own ass, too. I'm screwed right along with the rest of you. I killed two CIA officers. They'll throw me in jail and let me rot if they find me."

He met her eyes with a direct and malevolent gaze. "You're a pretty deceitful bitch. By lying to me and hiding all of this, you've been putting everyone's lives in danger, including Joe's."

"What other options did I have!?" Lisa cried, sitting forward in her chair. His anger was expected, but she still felt frantic and guilty. "I had to rat out Paloma as a distraction because who knows what you'd have done to me that night when I was drunk off sake. Before I realized how Hastings was involved, I _wanted_ the CIA to find you and finish you all off! If Keefe's contract had been completed, I would have been useless but still dangerous to the Company. My life would be worth nothing to you if it weren't for my father. I would have been shipped back to Mexico or locked up somewhere the rest of my life!"

"What makes you think the Company will have any part in your life after this contract is finished? Who says we won't drop you off in the Bahamas with a huge wad of cash and leave you alone? Remember my offer about Paris? Why are you so convinced the Company will be there every waking minute to ruin your life?"

"Don't lie to me Jackson," she said, her eyes snapping in fury. "You know damn well that one way or another, you'll show up again – whether because of Keefe, or my father, or god forbid in the seat next to me on a flight to Miami."

"Don't lie to you?" he scoffed. "How ironic. You're obviously still not seeing the bigger picture. You know this is not just about Keefe; it's about the amount of dishonesty it took on your part to end up here.

"You've been lying to the world ever since you let that one bad day take over your life. I watched you long enough to know. When the grandma who lived across the hall asked where you were going, you were meeting up with 'friends.' If Cynthia invited you out after work, you already had 'plans.' Every time Joe asked if you were okay, you said you were 'fine.' Quit _lying_ to everyone! You don't have friends, you never had plans and you are not FINE."

"Shut up!" she screamed, abruptly flinging her chair back and standing. "I sure as hell didn't ask you to become my therapist while I'm trying to SAVE your worthless ass!"

She stomped through the apartment, fuming when she heard Jackson's chair scrape across the hardwood behind her.

"You've been fucked up in the head long before I knew you. I seriously doubt I've done anything to make it much worse," Jackson hissed, following her and taunting her relentlessly. "You've always run and hid from the world, just like you're doing now."

She ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut; locking it despite the lack of protection it offered against keeping him out, much less his painful words that stung far worse than they should have. Why did the truth always feel like a knife?

She'd had complete control of the situation – turning over information that had completely blindsided Jackson. But now he had turned the tables on her with such mastery that she still didn't know how exactly she'd ended up in here, feeling more wretched than she had in years.

She put her back to the door, wincing at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her skin was red and blotchy, like she had been compressing tears and pain deep inside her soul but now it was leaking across her face, unbidden, like a disease.

"One fucked up afternoon and you rolled over and played dead for two years," Jackson said through the door. He was standing only inches away from her. She trembled and bit her lip, lacking even the energy to deny his accusation. "Since then you've probably given your customers more fake smiles than I have in my entire life. And it's my _job_ to deceive people. You can't do it constantly or else you start to deceive yourself. And so here you've been, turning into a zombie while pretending to be Little Miss I'm-Fine. And that's why I say FUCK Keefe. _Fuck him_. Because one way or another, you'll get out of this mess and be right back where you started – a scared little girl who has no life and cowers at shadows, drowning in your 'I'm fines' while you hide the undeniable facts that you killed two government agents, your daddy's a famous crime lord and you fell for one of his top men—"

"NO!" Lisa screamed. She threw open the door and was barely able to draw breath under Jackson's intense blue stare. "No," she repeated firmly, her eyes steel, her face pale. "Shut the hell up. Every time you speak, every time I even _look_ at you, all I can see is how much of my life I've lost and how much of it you've taken from me."

He pushed her so hard she lost her balance and landed against the counter. One wide step and he had entered the bathroom, kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe and caged her against the counter with his arms, forearms bared up to the elbow and hostility bared in his eyes. The similarity to that damn airplane bathroom ratcheted her fear several notches higher.

"If it's any consolation, sometimes I look at you and damn near forget how to breathe," he said, his voice a dark, deep rumble that suddenly made her core flood with heat.

"Stop," she replied, lips trembling. "You can't play mind games with me anymore. I've known you for five months now. I know when you're manipulating me and trying to get what you want."

"And what is it I want, Leese?" he asked quietly, but the subtle tilt of his head was overridden by the hot blaze in his eyes, like years of ice had melted off to reveal boiling heat underneath.

She didn't know the answer, or perhaps she just didn't want to fully realize it. She felt like she'd stepped off a cliff and was rapidly plunging through midair without hope of ever landing.

"Hell if I know," she muttered, seriously fighting the urge to lean closer because she had caught the delicious scent of his aftershave.

"You have a problem with being honest even with yourself."

"I don't know myself anymore! You've awakened this undeniable violence in me that I've always been able to hide. I don't know how to deal with my emotions; all I can do is be angry about everything and that's not the way I want to be!"

"There's nothing wrong with being angry. I know hate is a hard emotion for you to accept but it's far better than being numb. On the plane, you…" He shook his head, unaccustomed to not finding the correct words. "God, Leese there's no way to explain it. You became an entirely different person from the loner I tracked for eight weeks. You were no longer a victim of your own life. You were angry about what was happening to you. If I hadn't come along and scared the shit out of you by threatening Keefe and Joe, you would still be holed up in your apartment every night, trying to hide your entire existence from the rest of the world."

"There was nothing wrong with my safe, _normal_ life."

"You mean the one you were suffocating in? If I hadn't cut all that dead weight off you, you would've either ended up divorced at 48 or just another suicide story on the evening news."

"Yeah, well, not all of us can be glamorous assassins who live outside the rules and die in a halo of bullets."

"Well thank god none of us want to be Lisa, the fake-peppy front desk manager who lets people walk all over her on a daily basis."

"If you even dare think that you've ever helped me in any way, you are fucking wrong. You haven't done a single damn thing to make my life better."

"Maybe not, but at least I've helped you understand why it _sucked_."

Her temper coalesced into a searing knot of fury in her gut. She threw her weight backwards and brought her knee up, aiming straight toward the most sensitive part of him, but Jackson twisted to the side just in time. He caught her knee and threw it to the side, and before Lisa could fully recover her balance he caught her wrists and stepped away from the counter, spinning them around so she was pushed back against the bathroom wall. She fought to pull her wrists free but it was admittedly half-hearted compared to the other times she had tried to kick his ass. Perhaps because, this time at least, she was angrier with herself than him. Jackson shifted so he clenched both of her hands in one of his and dug his hips into her. The shock of his arousal pressed against her was enough to make her go completely motionless.

"And really," he continued, not even breathing hard, "I think it's safe to say I _have_ made your life better. Tell me, in all honesty, that you didn't enjoy kissing me in my office."

Lisa tried in vain to slow her heart, but thinking about that heated, forbidden moment in his office caused her breath to hitch. "If I enjoyed it, it was just part of the moment," she sneered helplessly, knowing her anger wouldn't cover her lie.

"Admit it, Leese. You liked it just as much as you like this." Jackson's free hand played with the button of her pants, slowly releasing it from the loop of fabric.

The mere presence of his fingers _right there_ made the traitorous junction between her legs throb in want.

Jackson undid the zipper of her pants and slightly tugged them down, eliciting another panicked round of fighting to free her hands, but Jackson intensified his grip, so tightly her thumbs popped. She whimpered in pain and surrendered her movements. His fingers slid past the band of her underwear, palm burning against her skin.

"You know fighting me is useless. I've rarely spared you details about my life. I've told you about the worst things I'm capable of and shown you the rest."

With a wicked grin, his hand slipped deeper and his fingertips found her entrance, already hot and wet and shamelessly ready for him.

His lips swept across her cheek and hovered next to her ear. "But despite how much you think you hate me, you can't hide how much I turn you on," he murmured, his teeth marking her neck with a brief, sharp pinch.

"Fuck you, Jackson," she seethed desperately, but she couldn't possibly refute his accusation – didn't even try – and a satisfied gleam lit up his eyes. This was the side of Jackson that scared the shit out of her, when all of his cagey intensity crossed some sort of line and morphed into a dark, fathomless passion.

"I know it's scary to lose control. I know it was bad when it happened to you before. But I protect what's mine and I'm not going to hurt you. Tell your brain to fuck off for once and stop denying that you want me. Accept the woman you've become. Accept me the way I want you."

She trembled under the weight from that statement. She knew what he was offering. She knew just how close she was to accepting.

"I can't let you in like that," she whispered, eyes locked with his. "I can't stay in your world."

"Then give yourself to me," he breathed, his voice seductive and rough. "Just once—just for tonight…"

He traced the outside of her folds, teasing the tip of his finger just a little deeper…

Her eyes momentarily pinched shut and she tried to stop shaking as she exhaled. Her body was already screaming yes, but her brain still held on to a scrap of fear and insecurity. He could ruin her and leave her without a backward glance.

Jackson saw that tiny remaining piece of self-control, but he also recognized how much had already been stripped away. His lips skimmed across hers and he even released her hands, providing her a chance to leave.

In the end, she simply couldn't compel her mouth to form the word _no_ — and a heartbeat later Jackson's hand drifted to her chin and pulled her forward, pressing his lips firmly, urgently against her own. A million thoughts blew through Lisa's head all at once, but the only one that stuck was how he tasted: like brandy, slightly sweet and smoky, but also unerringly male. Her lips parted, tongue tentatively meeting his, when he suddenly slid a finger inside her core and without hesitation slid in a second, working her with smooth, long strokes that had sparks dancing across the inside of her eyelids.

He moaned and breathed her name. Her stomach fluttered in pleasure; she had never felt this way about a man. Five months of restraining her attraction to Jackson had bottled up an irrepressible amount of longing and frustration. She unknowingly embedded her nails in his side and pulled him closer.

He responded by catching her lip and pinching it hard between his teeth, letting it go slowly as if relishing the sensation of finally causing her pain he knew she would enjoy.

They both knew the instant they slowed down – paused – thought rationally – she would clam up and for that reason Jackson demanded the lead with an intensity Lisa fought hard to match.

In a way, it was yet another game between them – one that had absolutely no rules and no room for self-control. Every brush of lips and teeth and skin was a dare – a challenge to reciprocate the action with greater intensity – and every moment pushed them closer to a climax neither would back down from.

Lisa knew she'd willingly fallen into a neatly laid trap. She wanted to be the strong, fearless woman that Jackson had created and molded in her head; wanted it so badly she was setting fire to the old Lisa Reisert and leaving her to burn.

Her hand slid around Jackson's shoulder blade and dropped down the side of his lean torso. Under the fabric of his shirt she felt gently rippled muscle, the faint bumps of his ribs and the masculine line of the muscles along his hips.

His fingers moved evenly inside her, making her breathing unsteady every time they peaked, until he suddenly took his hand away and focused on pulling her jeans the rest of the way off.

In retaliation she slid her fingertips between his boxers and his pants, far enough to tease, but then clamped her thumb down on his belt and refused to move her hand any farther.

Jackson audibly groaned at the suspense and briefly fought with her thumb, trying to press her fingers deeper along his skin, until finally, frustrated with her unrelenting coyness, he simply undid his pants and belt in one practiced, easy flick. The buckle fell loose and he instantly grabbed her hand and cupped it against his fullness, hot and straining against the fabric of his boxers.

He ground against her – just hard enough for her to gasp but not pull away from him or their kiss – and, satisfied that he had both hands free, he lifted her black tank top high enough to reveal her bra underneath. He leisurely unsnapped the hooks with one hand while the other roamed possessively up her side, stripping off her shirt completely. She slid off her bra and let it fall to the floor, and he moved both hands to encompass the freed curves of her breasts while his thumbs manipulated the hard twin peaks so they strained against his skin.

He unexpectedly pinched one and Lisa let out an indignant yelp, then squeezed his girth a little harder than necessary as payback.

Jackson broke their kiss, and with a faint grunt of pleasure buried his face in her hair. "God, Leese. Unless you tell me not to in the next two seconds, I am taking you into my bedroom and fucking the hell out of you. "

An absolutely electric shock swept through her veins, priming her body for the pleasure she wanted so badly. She squeezed him again – a warning, an invitation, a challenge – and Jackson growled and kissed her again, rough and hard while he pulled her out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Lust and brandy fogged Lisa's sense of space until Jackson's legs softly thudded into a heavy piece of furniture. He sat down on his bed and hauled Lisa on top of him, stripping off her pants in mere moments.

He fell back on the mattress, appreciating the glorious sight of Lisa straddling him wearing nothing but her underwear while she fiercely unbuttoned his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and socks and pants, then sat up and languidly swirled his tongue around her nipples while Lisa relieved him of his shirt.

The dim light revealed the scars she had first seen in the hotel hot tub. She connected the marks with her finger, many of them old bullet wounds, some straight and methodical down his side – the result of torture, and a few that were clearly made by objects not even intended to be weapons. The stab wound on his throat was a round, red patch of skin, high above the rest of the scars on his torso.

"Which one hurt the most?" she whispered.

"Yours. For a lot of reasons."

He pushed her onto her back, up against the pillows at the head of his bed, lips trailing heat down her neck. He bit her just below the collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark that would mirror her scar in the morning.

"I swear my tongue will touch every single part of your skin before this night is over," he promised, looping a finger around the band of her underwear and dragging them down to her knees. "But right now I just want to fuck you until I forget where I am."

"I'm holding you to that," Lisa said playfully, maneuvering his boxers off his masculine hips until they were completely gone, and suddenly there were no barriers left between them and only an unexplored world of passion ahead.

Her hands gripped Jackson's side. He positioned himself over her and she could feel him, hot and solid and heavy against her thighs, poised to bring her unimaginable bliss that would change her life forever.

"Leese, this is the absolute last chance you have to say no to me. Do you understand?" Jackson asked, his voice husky, eyes almost completely glazed over with lust but still shining with a faint gleam of self-control.

"You honestly think I could stop you?"

"I'd like to see you try," he growled, and in one quick, smooth motion he had buried himself completely inside her and released Lisa into a haze of endless blue.

They cried out from the sudden union – one they had both dreamed of and wanted for months – muscles clenching and fingers tightening against skin, and when Jackson slid out of her and pushed back in again, harder, all conscious thought vanished and they descended into a frenzied spiral of sex and skin and desire.

He was not gentle, pumping fast and hard, filling her so completely she thought she might crack and break apart, then pulling out entirely before slamming his girth inside her again, and again and again until she screamed, vocally manifesting her ardor with an intensity that left her dizzy.

Lisa's fingers fanned across the rippling muscles in Jackson's shoulders. His hair hung low over his forehead and obscured his eyes so she only caught brief flashes of blue. She moved her hand to brush his dark hair to the side, realized it was damp, and felt a secret thrill knowing he was sweating because of her.

Jackson groaned deep in his throat. "You feel so fucking incredible, Leese…" His voice was silky, seductively soft and rough at the same time.

Jackson wrapped an arm around her waist and forced her over so she laid on her stomach. Chills bloomed on her skin when he drifted his nails down her spine to the smooth curve of her ass. He pressed his hand into the small of her back and leaned his weight against her, probing her slick entrance with the head of his cock before pushing in, sinking deeper with agonizingly slow progress, until she whined from the torment.

"Do it, Jackson…"

"Begging for me, sweetheart?"

"No, _telling_ you, jackass."

He bucked his hips against her, making sure she enveloped every single inch of him. She gasped out in pain, thrashing against his weight, but he had her speared so completely she could barely move.

He wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. His mouth grazed against her ear and he whispered, "You are mine. No other man will ever have you again for the rest of your life."

"Fuck you, I don't belong to anyone," she shot back, straining against his hold.

His fingers found the nub on the front of her sex and manipulated the tiny little sweet spot with unrelenting pressure. Lisa felt the heat rapidly rise in her body, tingling and spreading until the intensity was right on the edge of breaking free… when he suddenly pulled his hand away. She could feel his grin against her cheek as he held her orgasm hostage.

"Tell me you belong to me," he commanded.

He blocked her hands from aiding her release. Her clit throbbed in agony.

"Tell me," he repeated, lips urgently nuzzling the curve of her shoulder. She wondered if, beneath the premise of control, he was simply asking for reassurance.

"I'm yours," Lisa finally breathed, loving the way his cock twitched inside her in excitement even as the damning words slipped past her lips.

His fingers immediately resumed their motion, and only seconds passed before her climax erupted and waves of hot satisfaction rolled through her body.

He moaned, biting her neck so viciously she screamed. His rhythm became erratic as he fought to delay his own climax, but was finally thrown over the edge.

For a moment, the only sounds were heavy breathing and fabric rustling when Jackson rolled to the side and collapsed on his back.

"Holy shit," he finally muttered, reaching for Lisa's totally spent form and pulling her feverish skin alongside his, her head against his shoulder. "Why the fuck did we wait so long to do that?"

She smiled, deliciously content and warm. "Better question is, how long do we have to wait to do it again?"

He kissed her temple, hands roaming across her skin as if he feared waking and finding her vanished beneath his very touch. His lips soon moved to meet hers, and Jackson made good on his earlier promise, his tongue expertly coaxing heat to rise once more in her body…

:o:

:o:

:o:

The morning spread a quiet gray light through Jackson's bedroom. Lisa awoke feeling clear and level headed, as if a massive amount of nervous energy had been purged from her body. She was lying on her side, arms pillowed under her head and legs slightly curled under the covers. Jackson was snug against her back, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist as he breathed lightly against her neck.

Lisa lifted her body off the mattress and flipped over so she faced him. His eyebrows drew together and his hand grazed her skin and pulled her tighter against his chest. She felt part of him, _that_ part, twitch against her leg, but instead of feeling embarrassed or dirty or cheap or _anything_ – she felt… sexy. Relaxed, satisfied. Proud, even. Jackson was gorgeous… She drew her fingertips along the edge of his cheek, brushed across the stubble starting to form on his chin, and even dared to slide a piece of his dark hair away from his eyes before she lost her nerve and settled her hand back at her side, lightly touching his leg.

Maybe she'd eventually regret the entire night with every ounce of her being, but for now she allowed herself the luxury to drift back into sleep feeling that everything was right with the world.

She had truly changed. Or perhaps not. Perhaps now she was just being honest with herself.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	17. Chapter 17

When Lisa opened her eyes later that morning, the first thing she saw was Jackson's bare back as he wordlessly stepped into his boxers and left the room.

She sat up and stared silently at the empty bed next to her. Conflicting emotions yearned to fill the space he left behind. Memories from the night before prickled across her skin.

The old Lisa would have wasted no time in giving in to the guilt and shame. Perhaps she had been absolutely foolish to give into temptation and deserved to have her feelings crushed into the dirt. Sometimes it was easier to slip into sadness than fight to feel happy.

The reborn, honest Lisa chose to simply close her eyes and breathe deeply: last night had been exhilarating and _fun_. Even if the rest of her life was overshadowed by those few sensual, brilliant hours, it was worth knowing that she was still capable of feeling sexy and beautiful and happy.

However, long seconds passed without Jackson's return. The contrast of feeling so close to someone, for the first time in _years_, coupled with his abrupt abandonment whittled away at Lisa's inner strength. Tiny, wet tears of doubt seeped into her eyes. She furiously rubbed them back into her skull.

Jackson reentered the bedroom carrying two mugs of fresh coffee. Lisa dropped her hands and made sure the sheet was securely twisted around her nude form. "You're awake." He kicked the door shut behind him. "I know hazelnut is your favorite flavor, but all I had was French vanilla." He noticed her red eyes and set the mugs on the bedside table. His hand cupped her chin and tilted her face toward him. "Hey… you okay? I was sort of rough with you last night…"

She parted her lips to speak, but winced when she realized 'I'm fine' had been perched on her tongue, ready to escape.

Jackson laughed softly. "You have that excuse well-trained. You want some advil?"

Lisa smiled, a little bashful. "Stop it. Stop being so nice."

"Enjoy it while it lasts. It'll be out of my system soon enough."

_I'd rather not get used to it in the first place,_ Lisa thought.

Jackson ignored her rueful silence. His hand dropped to the skin above her collarbone and he couldn't repress an utterly male grin.

"You didn't…" Lisa touched the spot with her fingertips. Her cheeks reddened from the memory of his teeth bruising the flesh. "Jeez, way to be discreet."

"Speaking of discreet…" Jackson tugged at the sheet twisted around her form. "You're such a woman. I've seen every inch of you naked and you still cover it all up."

"Some habits are harder to break," she replied, sparking a playful challenge between them. Lisa fought to keep the sheet intact during their brief tug of war, but Jackson cheated by tickling the bottoms of her feet. They both ended up under the sheet, sprawled sideways across the mattress.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you?" he asked after a few moments. "Ever since the plane, when you pretended to change Keefe's room after the phone cut out on Cynthia. At first I denied it… I just wanted to tear down those walls you'd built against reality, shred your sanity to ribbons – the usual for people who piss me off. But when you almost got away with that fake call, I realized I had completely underestimated you. I realized you were my equal."

Jackson's smile faded. "Look… last night made things.. complicated, Leese. You know I can't act differently around you at headquarters. I called your dad and he's on his way to Orlando, so that's some help."

She partially sat up and rested her weight on an elbow. "I'll be okay."

"You say that now. It's another thing entirely when Affague is trying to rip your head off and I can't help you."

"Why would Affague want to… hold on. Am _I_ the one that's telling him about Keefe and Hastings?"

"According to Company policy, yes. It has to be you. If you still want to reveal all this to him, that is."

"Of course I do." She tucked hair behind her ear, uncertainty prickling her scalp. "Why can't you just use the recordings from last night?"

"Because Affague will want to ask you questions. Lots of them. Consider last night a test run. A lot of shit is gonna hit the fan today, and since you're the source of all of it…"

Lisa's eyes cooled as she steeled herself for his next words.

"I'll try to protect you as much as I can, but…" Jackson frowned; looked away.

Lisa didn't know what was more heartbreaking: that he couldn't promise she'd be safe, or that she wouldn't really trust him even if he did.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Jackson and Lisa finished their coffee and showered. Last night still lingered between them but was reluctantly paling against the harsh realities that daylight brought.

Lisa dressed in her clothing from the day before, smiling a little as she walked between the bedroom and bathroom to collect everything. Still missing a flip-flop, she rummaged through Jackson's closet for the smallest pair of tennis shoes he owned. They didn't fit, but she strangled the laces tight against her feet to at least prevent the shoes from falling off.

Jackson pulled two compact, black suitcases out of the hall closet. "What are these for?" she asked when he handed her one. It was empty.

"We need them to get the car," he replied, supplying no further detail.

Jackson, Lisa and the empty luggage went down the elevator and out to the circular drive where a taxi was already waiting. "Orlando International, Terminal A," Jackson said, throwing a twenty over the seat. Lisa stiffened at the name, but said nothing. Were they leaving the city, going on the run? The taxi twisted through downtown traffic, avoiding the toll roads as it drove southeast and entered the tropical airport landscape.

The driver dropped them off on the curb outside Terminal A. Lisa followed Jackson inside, jumpy at entering such a public place. How many months had it been since that night on the plane? What if her face was caught on camera somewhere?

They walked past the ticket counters and took an escalator down to the baggage claim. Thirty seconds later, they were on an empty bus headed for the long-term parking lot. Lisa let out a shaky breath, hand flexing on the handle of her suitcase. She stared down at her awkwardly big shoes.

"You're fine," Jackson whispered, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead.

Jackson already had his bearings by the time they stepped off the creaky bus. They walked halfway across the lot and stopped in front of a black Lexus. It was a small, sporty thing and Jackson took his time inspecting it. He circled the car twice, critical eyes sweeping the exterior, and checked the undercarriage before finally passing judgment. "It's not my old car, but it'll work."

He knelt and extracted a key from the front driver's side wheel well. The empty luggage was thrown in the trunk and they began the drive back to Company headquarters. All too soon, Jackson passed the security booth and parked in the underground garage. They sat quietly, enjoying the remaining minutes of their time alone. The ordeal waiting for them loomed heavy on their thoughts.

"Would you leave with me if I asked you?" Jackson asked. His fingers tentatively brushed hers. After last night, how could that simple touch still feel so forbidden?

She swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Disappointment lurked behind the mask on Jackson's face.

She inhaled and managed a weak smile. "I couldn't. Not right now. But.. someday… maybe…"

Jackson squeezed her hand.

"Loyal to a fault, Leese. But if you have a thing for saving corrupt men, then maybe I still have a shot."

:o:

:o:

:o:

Two urgent, heavy knocks rattled Charles Keefe's office door against its frame. "Bill Davis, sir," a voice called through the wood.

Keefe, already standing, opened the door almost immediately. "Bill," Keefe greeted his bodyguard warmly. "How can I help you?"

Davis stepped inside and shut the door. "I wanted to go over your itinerary before we head out. Your meeting with the Coast Guard is this Friday in Seattle. Departure from Washington DC is set for Thursday, tomorrow, at nine in the morning." Davis paused and awkwardly clasped his hands behind his back.

"Just ask, Bill," Keefe interrupted. "You want to know why we're stopping in Miami."

Davis looked appropriately clueless. "I assumed it was the pilot's request, sir."

Keefe smiled, forming handsome dimples in his tan skin, although unease haunted his eyes.

"No, it was my request. We're stopping to pick up an old friend…"

:o:

:o:

:o:

"The only way to force Affague to respect you is to either give him a truck load of money or prove that you're tougher than him. Remember when you punched him in the nose?"

"He'd kill me if I punched him again. I can't get away with that twice."

"Well no shit, Leese. I was going to recommend that you _not_ try that approach this time."

Lisa flashed her hand in front of the scanner to open the door to the atrium. She had only had time to change into fresh clothes and shoes that fit before her meeting with Affague.

"You'll just have to put up with his bullying and show you're tough under pressure," Jackson continued. "He'll ask you the same question a dozen different ways, and if your answers are inconsistent he'll nail you for it."

Although Lisa appreciated Jackson's forewarnings, it was hard to listen and not feel overwhelmingly unprepared. She had to turn this encounter to her own advantage, and convince Affague to back down on the contract. _Focus on saving Keefe._ Everything else would hopefully fall into place from there.

Jackson knocked on Affague's door and entered without waiting for a response. It had been nearly five months since she'd been in Affague's office – right before leaving for Mexico. The room looked the same: dark wood walls, bookshelves and a lone covered window opposite the door. A long black couch and two matching chairs sat to her left, forming a casual meeting area.

"Sir. She's here."

Affague looked up from the paperwork on his desk. His friendly smile sank into place, but it didn't conceal the hooded mistrust in his eyes.

"So, Jackson tells me you've decided to come clean with us, Miss Reisert. Another day and Mr. Keefe's fate would have been irreversibly sealed. Please, come have a seat and let's talk."

He walked to the meeting area, gesturing for them to be seated. Lisa felt like she was being formally invited to her own execution.

Jackson tossed the thumbdrive containing Keefe and Hastings' conversation to Affague and sat in the far chair. Affague settled into the other, forcing Lisa to sit alone on the long, exposed couch.

Affague fingered the thumbdrive's plastic shell before setting it carefully on the glass coffee table. "I'd prefer to hear your testimony first, Miss Reisert." His eyes tracked her nervously twitching fingers, which she clamped together and cemented into her lap.

She exhaled and swallowed hard, and began talking before her courage shriveled and died.

"You can't go through with Keefe's contract as currently planned. The person who wants him dead is a high-ranking CIA officer named Patrick Hastings. A woman named Maria, known to you as Ella, is acting as his front. Hastings plans to expose the Company and make you and your men take the fall for Keefe's death because Hastings needs to hide his—"

"Excuse me, Miss Reisert," Affague interrupted. "I'm a busy man. Can you give m the short version?"

"If you kill Keefe, the Company will be _destroyed_."

Affague's head twitched to the side, disbelief curling his lips in anger. "Jackson, what the hell is this? You let her in here with a story like that? You going soft on me?"

"Listen to the first audio file on the thumbdrive." Jackson's tone had a weary patience, similar to that acquired from dealing with small, bratty children.

"Don't have time for this crap…" Affague grumbled while he retrieved his laptop, plugged in the thumbdrive and accessed the fateful conversation between Keefe and Hastings. He pressed black earbuds into his ears and silence descended over the office.

For the first ten seconds, Affague's face retained its' twisted scowl, but twenty seconds later the scowl had loosened and sagged. Affague gripped the earbud wires and yanked them free. His glare was genuine, but laced with wild desperation. "Tell me everything."

Lisa obliged. Her nerves were gone – she was finally in control.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa recounted the entire story she had told Jackson the night before, although it took much longer because of Affague's barrage of questions. She knew he was relentlessly crosschecking names, numbers, locations – almost any fact he could get his hands on – itching for just one inconsistency that would break her entire story.

However, to Affague's intense displeasure, her evidence held firm. Half an hour later, Affague sighed and briefly cradled his forehead in his hands.

"What a mess. And you thought it was in your best interest to keep all this hidden from us, Miss Reisert?"

"What would you have done in my position?"

"I would have graciously returned the hospitality extended to me by my superiors. Do you know how many people at this Company worked hard to ensure your safety and well-being? It's appalling how selfishly you have behaved towards us in return."

Lisa clamped her lips shut, not daring to lose her temper and render Affague's description of her correct.

"I should have you killed for putting my Company in danger," Affague goaded her. "I have had men murdered for far less."

"Don't shoot the messenger, you prick," she snapped. "If your men weren't good enough to pick up on the connection between Hastings and Keefe, that's entirely your problem—_not mine_."

Affague had a gun pointed at her face before she'd fully realized he had moved. "I can't order your cooperation, but I can demand your respect. Apologize for that statement, or I will happily blow your brains all over my couch."

Lisa had dealt with countless bouts of theatrics from angry customers at the Lux, who normally calmed down after blowing off some steam. They weren't the scary ones – it was the calm, snide customers who wouldn't hesitate to get her fired before their noon lunch meeting that she was afraid of.

Affague looked entirely normal as he pointed the gun at her face, and it was his casual manner that made him so terrifying. Lisa's panicked eyes flicked to Jackson. The fact that he was nearly powerless to protect her sunk to a whole new meaning.

"Stop looking at Mr. Rippner. In here, you answer to _me_."

"I'll never apologize to you," she hissed. "It's beneath me."

"Insolent bitch!" His palm whipped across her face—knocked her to the floor and raised a stinging welt on her cheek.

"You're a dirty old man who can't do anything but lie and pull a trigger!" she screamed at Affague, panicked and shocked and _furious_ that he had slapped her.

Affague's hand crushed against her throat – Lisa choked in surprise at the sudden pressure. He roared senseless words in her face, pushing the gun against her skin so hard that the nozzle scraped flesh off her temple. She screamed back angry, spiteful curses that only added to the chaos.

She heard a metallic click to her left – Affague had turned off the safety on the gun – Lisa closed her eyes—and then—

There was a shout and sounds of a brief struggle. She opened her eyes and saw Affague sprawled back in his chair, shocked eyes fixed on Jackson.

"Knock it off, Jim," Jackson growled at him, snapping the safety back into place and removing the clip. His hands worked easily across the surface of the gun, the motions clearly on autopilot.

Affague stared at his manager in enraged silence, his face wild with accusation. Jackson had blatantly stepped over a very dark line. "Why are you protecting her?"

"She's no use to us dead. Besides, I'm more concerned about—" Jackson's eyes gravitated toward the door and his mouth snapped shut.

"Concerned about what?" a deep voice thundered from across the room. Jackson and Affague winced. It was Joe, and he was pissed.

"Lisa has been hiding a lot from us," Jackson said. "The Keefe contract could compromise the entire organization."

"Lisa? Leese!" Joe jogged a few quick steps and carefully lifted her off the shaggy white carpet. He propped her up on the sofa with a few pillows and gingerly touched the welt on her cheek. Behind him, Lisa saw Jackson's hand twitch – powerless for the sake of his professional reputation.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"The Company is in danger. A man from the CIA is involved in Keefe's contract."

Joe frowned and opened his mouth to ask questions. Lisa cut him off. "I have proof. And Jackson believes me."

It was apparently the right thing to say. Joe nodded curtly and stood up. "Have an extraction report ready in thirty minutes, Jackson," he ordered. "And get Neil started on a comprehensive data migration to the secure backup servers."

Affague stood and growled, "Who's still the boss here, Joe?"

"You are temporarily removed from your position, Jim. A security breach of this magnitude shows your ability in managing the Company has clearly been compromised by this contract. As the most recent managing partner, I'm assuming full responsibility of the Company's operations. A thorough review of your leadership will be conducted at the end of the month, and until then I don't want to see you anywhere near this building."

Joe turned back to Lisa right as Affague swung, but Joe ducked and caught the blow with his shoulder. He spun and kicked Affague in his bad knee, connecting directly with the side of Affague's kneecap. There was a sick, crunching pop. Affague shrieked and collapsed on his back, knocking over the vinyl chair as it partially broke his fall. Joe leveled his shoe against Affague's throat.

"You've always been a pain in my ass, Jim." He leaned his weight against Affague's throat, slowly deforming his windpipe. Affague wrapped his hands around Joe's ankle, choking and sputtering in pain. After an awful minute, he rasped, "Joe… please."

Joe removed his foot and then gave him a single, brutal kick in the ribs. "That was for hitting my daughter, asshole." He sat next to Lisa on the couch. "Been waiting years to do that," he muttered.

After Affague limped out of the room, Joe made sure Lisa was glued to his side for the next two hours. His old office had been completely emptied after his departure from the Company, so he took over Affague's instead.

Lisa rested on the couch and watched her father settle back into routine with an ease that she found slightly disturbing. Jackson explained the important parts of Lisa's story and they conversed in low, serious tones – heads bent over the sprawl of paper on Joe's desk. Jackson. Joe listened to the audio files on the thumbdrive, his face grave.

While Joe was occupied, Jackson pulled a book from Affague's bookshelf and tossed it to Lisa. "Hand-to-hand combat. Read up."

"Why is this necessary?"

"Because at some point you'll probably need to knock someone out. If not me, then one of the other men trying to ruin your life."

She smirked and flipped to a chapter in the middle of the book. Her eyes drifted to the first paragraph on the page and widened in interest. _Head butts are a powerful move in any fight_, she read, _although the element of surprise is just as important as performing the move correctly. The crown of the head, right along the hairline, should connect with your opponent's skull in one decisive downward stroke..._

Once the initial strategy meeting was complete, Joe propped open his office door and fielded questions from a constant stream of agents. Specialists from various departments came armed with binders and notebooks. Logistics, weaponry, transportation… all of the Company's resources were straining to accommodate the sudden, massive overthrow in their hierarchy.

If any of the agents were surprised or worried by the change, they hid it well. It was only when they saw Lisa that their expressions twitched—faltered. Somehow, they all realized that she was the reason behind Joe's return.

Jackson's phone beeped. He glanced at the screen. "Meeting has been scheduled for five sharp, Joe. Is Lisa attending?"

"You know I prefer she doesn't."

"Dad," she protested. "I was the one who started this, and I want to see it through to the end."

"I can lock her in her room," Jackson offered.

Joe dismissed the idea with an exasperated wave of his hand. "Good luck. You can attend, Lisa, but you do _not_ leave our sight."

:o:

:o:

:o:

Joe, Jackson and Lisa were the last three to enter the meeting room. It looked like the room where she had first met Affague. A long, oval table dominated the majority of the space, seating exactly eleven chairs on either side. All except three were filled; they were grouped on the left side of the table, in the exact center. A dozen agents stood silently against the walls.

Jackson and Lisa sat in the outer chairs. Joe stood behind the middle, gripping the back with a free hand.

"Glad to have you back, sir," an agent across the table said. There were several consenting nods and murmurs around the room, though clearly not everyone shared that opinion.

Joe nodded. "Affague has unfortunately had a serious lapse in judgment regarding the Keefe contract and has been temporarily removed from his position.

"As the contract currently stands, Paloma made contact with Keefe last week. She established a physical meeting point with the target at a private Miami airport, tomorrow afternoon at five o'clock. Thanks to your hard work and superior dedication, the hit could be carried out tomorrow with minimal preparation. However, in light of new information about the contract, it has been officially put on hold."

There were some murmurs around the room, though none of the agents looked surprised.

"Our client has not been notified; chiefly because we have learned our point of contact is a front for a CIA officer."

The murmurs turned into stunned exclamations and cursing.

"We all know the CIA is a wildcard, and my daughter believes them to be a dangerous one. At their request, we've already delivered our execution report, complete with dates, locations and methodology. The client has also requested live video surveillance of the hit. That doesn't leave us much control on our end.

"Right now, our primary goal is to minimize damage to the Company's future. Therefore, we have a few options ahead of us." Joe counted off on his fingers. "One; renegotiate with the client. Tell them we have an unforeseen emergency and need to suspend the contract until a later date. This would buy us some time, but also garner suspicion.

"Two; contact Charles Keefe and reverse the contract. For an increased sum, we will guarantee his protection and put all of our resources towards collecting information and eventually disposing of our current clients. I know we make fun of other agencies for pulling entry-level shit like this, and it may hurt existing business relations, but it could solve our problem entirely if done right.

"Third and final option; go underground. Relocate, reorganize, keep a low profile for a few months until the worst of the shitstorm blows past. This would cause massive disruption to all of our current contracts and business endeavors. It would also leave Mr. Keefe alive and unprotected, but seeing as we hold no obligation to him—"

"No," Lisa interrupted, her voice like a firmly controlled lightning bolt. "We're not backing out of this like cowards. We're going to Miami and saving Keefe. We owe him and his family that much. Patrick Hastings is the one who's trying to screw us over. He's the one who pays for making my life a living hell."

Everyone stared, shocked and speechless. Lisa held her breath while blood pounded in her ears.

Finally, Joe glanced around the room and smiled. "You heard my daughter. That's the plan. Get moving."

:o:

:o:

:o:

"You already know he'll be in Miami tomorrow to pick up his bitch," Hastings said in a low, urgent voice to the silent man on the other end of the phone. "You have a tight window while he's off the plane. _M__ake sure he does not leave Miami._"

:o:

:o:

:o:


	18. Chapter 18

The Company plane arrived in Miami around midnight, and for the first time in her life Lisa hadn't been scared during takeoff or landing. It could have been her newborn strength, forged the night before in Jackson's arms. It could have also been the fact that she had much, much bigger things to worry about.

The Company's base was a series of six connected hotel rooms in a Holiday Express just outside the city. Lisa and Paloma shared a room. Joe and Jackson each had private rooms, while the additional six agents, including Neil the technology whiz, bunked in the remaining three.

After arriving, everyone immediately sat down in Jackson's room to eat greasy pizza and review their plans for the following day. Two hours later the meeting was finally adjourned. Joe was the last to leave, yawning while bidding Lisa and Jackson goodnight.

"You should've booked your rooms at the Lux. I could have gotten you a discount," Lisa joked with a tentative smile.

"I'm pretty sure I have a lifetime ban at your hotel," Jackson replied, closing his laptop and leaning back against a mound of pillows. "Why'd you ever work there in the first place?"

Lisa dug her toes into the carpet, tipping her chair backwards as she thoughtfully played against gravity. "It was the first company that offered me a professional job after college. The pay wasn't bad, but after awhile I guess I sort of settled for it."

Jackson smirked. "You know, you working at that hotel was an insult to Joe. He was one of the most important men in our industry in the last twenty years. You could have been right up there with him, following in his footsteps and becoming recognized worldwide as one of the strongest in our field. _Easily_."

The scenario flirted with her senses. She envisioned a tall, confident woman dressed in a kick ass black power suit, tenaciously negotiating high-stakes contracts with hardened businessmen. But the fantasy rapidly cleared out of her head, chased off by her ever-present rationality.

"It could have happened that way, but I'm glad it didn't."

"Why? You wanted to spend the rest of your life behind a desk?"

"At least I was offered a job description."

He laughed softly, acknowledging the truth of her words. "I'll never say I was disillusioned about what I did, but I will admit the job has lost its appeal."

"What was ever appealing about murder?" She still choked a little saying it, even now.

"The power. Knowing I was influencing history. The money was good."

Even after the baring of souls they had shared the night before, she still found it hard not to judge him. The silence obviously said it for her. Jackson chucked a pillow at her head and used the distraction to pull her onto the bed. Lisa shrieked at the sudden assault, and Jackson grinned and impulsively leaned in for a kiss to silence her.

The instant their lips touched, the passion from the night before sparked a fire in her bloodstream—and then, from behind her, a man cleared his throat.

Lisa and Jackson broke apart, startled, and looked toward the source of the noise. Lisa winced when her gaze met Joe's emotionless stare.

"I heard you scream," he said, his voice dull. "Just wanted to make sure you were…" The last word died on his lips. He shook his head like he was trying to wake up out of a nightmare, and left the room.

"Shit," Jackson breathed. "Can't believe my head is still attached to my neck."

Lisa slumped back into her chair, absolutely horrified. "I've never been this embarrassed in my life."

"It's fine, Leese. He can't say shit to us."

"I feel sick."

"Well suck it up."

The previous rush of adrenaline soured into anger. "Haven't you ever broken down and been weak? Just for one moment?"

"Weaknesses get you killed."

"They also make you human."

"Are you suggesting I'm supernatural?"

"Sometimes I wonder."

:o:

:o:

:o:

It was six in the morning. After the incident with her dad, Lisa had slunk back to her room and spent four useless hours lying awake on her bed. The waiting built up a dense knot of nerves in her stomach, and the leftover pizza grease made her feel even worse. She glanced at the alarm clock again. Part of her wished it was still two a.m. so she could try to get some sleep, but the other part wished the day was already over.

Lisa took a fast shower and dressed in jeans and a solid black t-shirt. Paloma was silent; huddled under her blankets on the far bed. Lisa pulled back the window curtain, hoping to let in a hint of the sunrise, but the sky was completely overtaken by a mass of dark blue clouds.

She listened at the door to Jackson's room, wondering if he was awake – or worse, if her dad was in there. All she could hear was an infomercial on the television. She held her breath and knocked.

Jackson opened the door. He was alone, typing on his laptop. "Get any sleep?"

She shook her head no, sitting in the same chair from earlier.

"It shows. You should've just stayed here with me."

_And have my dad walk in again? No thank you… _

"Let's go over the agenda again for today," he suggested. "It might put your mind at ease. So around noon, our guy Shaun will drive Paloma to the airport in our limo. In the original plan she was supposed to lure Keefe off his plane, but now she'll obviously get on board and go with him to Seattle. If the plane is compromised in any way, the limo is already outfitted with GPS and bulletproof windows. Once Keefe is safe underground, Hastings becomes our primary target. However that's a task for another day. Right now, moving Keefe out of Miami is our primary goal."

"And when Ella calls to ask why the hit failed, what are you gonna say?"

"We're screwed there. Best we can do is lie and keep her on the phone while we track her call. If we can find out where she's located, it could lead us to Hastings. But once he realizes we're not doing him any favors, everything is going to hell one way or another."

"And Keefe…?"

"We'll keep him safe as long as we have to. Sound good?"

"You're the expert."

"Got a problem, guys," Neil said, popping his head into Jackson's room.

Paloma stormed past him. "This little freak," she jabbed her finger at Neil, "is trying to get me naked."

Lisa fought back a snort of laughter.

"He needs to put a wire on you, Paloma," Jackson explained patiently. "It's to keep you safe."

"You can't _bug_ me, you idiots. Don't you remember what it is I _do_? My clothes will be off in seconds once I'm alone with Charles."

Neil and Jackson looked at each other, momentarily stumped.

"You have a bag of some kind?" Neil asked. "A small purse we could hide a tracker in?"

"Not unless you buy one for me. I prefer Prada," she replied smugly.

Jackson ignored her. "Neil, didn't you once make a necklace with a GPS transmitter in it?"

Neil clicked his tongue in approval and pointed at Jackson. "You are a smart man. I don't have a transmitter on me, but I can get one."

"When?"

"Now."

No more planning was needed. An agent escorted Paloma back to her room, and Jackson, Lisa and Neil took a rental car down highway 95 into the center of Miami.

"We're making a pit stop," Jackson announced suddenly. When he got off the highway at the same exit Lisa used to take for work, she started to worry. But when he turned onto the very street where the Lux Atlantic stood, she panicked.

"Jackson, turn around. This isn't funny! I don't want to be anywhere _near_ this building right now."

"You'll be thanking me in a minute." He cruised into the employee parking garage; still pretty empty at 6:45 in the morning. He cruised down the row of parked cars, obviously searching for one in particular. Suddenly, he hit the brakes and pointed out his window. "There, Neil. Grab her."

Ten seconds later, a terrified redhead was thrown into the back seat. The car was already moving when Neil jumped in after her and slammed the door.

"Cynthia!?" Lisa yelped, shocked eyes whipping back and forth between Jackson and her former coworker.

"LISA!" Cynthia shrieked. She threw herself forward and gave Lisa a bruising hug around the back of the seat. "It's you! You're alive! Why am I being kidnapped!?"

"Ahh… I… I'm not exactly sure."

Cynthia caught a glimpse of Jackson's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Lisa, what the heck is going on?" Her voice was strained, a little suspicious. "Isn't that the guy from the plane?"

"Um…" Lisa didn't think there was any tactful way to explain Jackson's presence, so she fell back on her hotel manager skills. "Cynthia, meet Jackson."

"My pleasure, Cynthia," Jackson said smoothly, picking up on Lisa's cue. He exited the garage and merged seamlessly into morning traffic.

"Uh, nice to meet you," the redhead replied in a small voice.

"And this is Neil," Lisa continued. The blond man looked slightly rapturous as he cordially shook Cynthia's hand.

"You guys don't look too scary," Cynthia said, a hesitant smile forming on her lips.

Neil laughed. "You haven't met our colleagues."

"There's more of you?" she gasped.

Jackson frowned. The less Cynthia knew about the Company, the better. He made a right turn, circling the block to take the car back toward the Lux.

"Cynthia, forget about him," Lisa jumped in. "I can't really discuss where I've been, but what I can tell you is that I'm back in Miami because Keefe is in danger again. He's landing here in a few hours."

"Lisa, I'm sorry but that's giving me some pretty creepy déjà vu."

"Why is it creepy? We saved Keefe before."

"Yes, and then you vanished from the face of the earth and got charged as a conspirator for his attempted murder!"

Lisa stared at her, shocked, and then swatted Jackson on the arm.

"You never told me I'd been _charged_ with anything."

"I could never find the right time to tell you."

"There was no 'right time' in the last five months?"

"You were technically in Mexico for most of it."

"You were in Mexico?" Cynthia asked from the backseat.

"You can ask her about it once this is all over," Jackson said to her. "For now, take this card, Cynthia."

She tentatively pecked it out of his fingers, confusion edging her small frown as she studied it. "It's just a phone number."

"That number will get you in touch with me. Call if you are ever in trouble. Do not use it for gossip time with Lisa. If you ever see this number calling your phone, do not ignore it or I will send someone to hunt you down and give you the message in person. Let me be clear that you do not want this to happen, Cynthia. He'll have a KA-BAR and he'll know how to use it."

Cynthia's stare was blank.

"It's a knife," Lisa offered helpfully.

"Oh," the redhead gasped, eyes suddenly wide and unblinking. "Ohhhh….."

"You got that, Cynthia?" Jackson pressed, stopping at the curb of the Lux.

"Yes sir," she replied meekly.

"Peachy. Have a good day at work."

Lisa and Cynthia both climbed out of the car and exchanged a quick hug.

Cynthia flashed her a delighted grin and whispered, "He's scary, Lisa. But cute."

"Excuse me?"

"Promise you'll call me when this is all over," the redhead continued, oblivious to Lisa's stare as she ducked down and waved goodbye to Neil in the backseat. "You still owe me big for that box of Montecristo Cubans I found."

A rush of overwhelming sadness choked down Lisa's reply. What if this was the last time she ever saw her friend? Was that Jackson's real reason in coming to the Lux?

_Be strong, Lisa. There's no use in assuming the worst._

"I'll call you as soon as I can, Cynthia. I promise."

"Take care of yourself, Lisa. And please come back to work when this is all over. I really don't like the lady who got your job."

:o:

:o:

:o:

"Your guest is already here, sir," Bill Davis said to Keefe. The politician anxiously eyed the airport landscape out of the plane's tiny window.

"Where? I don't see her."

"She's inside the limo. Over there, parked by the far hanger."

"Perfect. Bring her aboard. My skin crawls just being in this city again."

"Well, there's a small problem. Because of the change in our route, the pilot made a miscalculation in the flight log. We'll need to refuel here before leaving for Seattle. Should only take thirty minutes."

Keefe frowned, obviously displeased with the delay, and said nothing.

"How about we drive around with Paloma for awhile, and the pilot can call when we're ready for departure. I'd feel safer if we kept you moving around. Harder to aim a missile at you when you're not sitting still."

"Thanks, Bill. I really wanted to be reminded of that."

The two men disembarked the plane and crossed the short span of pavement to the limo. They had landed in a privately owned airport in northern Miami, both for Keefe's safety and privacy.

The affair with Paloma had been pleasant early in his career. However, his promotion to Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security had changed things. The increased attention to his political and personal life made him wary, and his kids were growing fast. The first time they met after his promotion, Paloma had been hoping for a spending spree in Miami. Instead, he had abruptly called things off. He still had a scar on his temple from being clawed with a fake nail.

Yet here he was in Miami. Her unexpected call a week ago had caught him off guard, and he'd asked her to come to Seattle without a moment's hesitation. They had so much to catch up on…

The limo's back door swung open as Keefe approached. He quickened his steps in anticipation, eager to see Paloma's gorgeous, smiling face—but he only caught a glimpse of her tear-streaked skin before his world went black.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa rolled her ankles to stimulate blood flow down her cramped legs. She and Neil had set up camp in the backseat of an SUV parked outside of a Barnes and Noble. Jackson and Joe were up front, Joe behind the wheel. Four other agents waited nearby in an oversized, windowless van. Paloma and Shaun, the sixth Company agent, had left with the limo about an hour ago. Neil had kept her entertained for a while by hacking into other people's computers on the wireless internet. However, after Jackson ordered him to conserve his laptop battery, the tension from the long wait soon sucked all humor from the air.

Earlier this morning, after dropping off Cynthia at the Lux, Neil had picked up a tiny GPS unit from a friend in a nearby electronics store. The three had returned to the Holiday Express with little time to get packed. Lisa had just shut her suitcase when Joe entered her room. They stared awkwardly for a moment, until her father cleared his throat and spoke.

"I just want you to know I'm very unhappy with both of you. Jackson is brilliant at what he does and I respect him in many ways, but I never wanted this part of my life to overlap with yours. I obviously can't protect you from every decision you make…"

A shrill beep knocked Lisa out of her trance. Jackson, who had been still for so long Lisa thought he'd fallen asleep, reached into his pocket and studied his cell.

"Just got a text from Shaun. He says they're not on the plane, but everything's fine and they'll meet up with us later today."

Lisa breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

"He didn't say why the plane didn't work out?" Joe asked.

"No. Just that they were on the move."

"That doesn't seem right…"

"Hey!" Neil shouted, typing rapidly into a command prompt on his laptop screen. "We just lost the GPS to the limo. Working on reestablishing the connection…"

Joe and Jackson shared a long, tense look. Dread resettled at the bottom of Lisa's stomach.

"Shit. Nothing. GPS is permanently down. The unit has been destroyed. Shaun's either turned sides or that's not him driving."

"Fuck," Jackson growled. "_Fuck_. Wait. Paloma. She's still wearing that necklace, right?"

Neil cursed in delight and rapidly hit keys on his laptop. Seconds later: "Got'em. Heading east, towards the bay."

"We're moving," Joe spoke into his radio. "They're definitely not going north out of the city like we'd planned. But as long as they keep Paloma and Keefe together and don't take her jewelry, we'll find them." The SUV pulled out of the parking lot and moved into traffic, the van following close behind.

The GPS signal from Paloma's necklace led them straight east through Miami. It finally slowed and stopped in an old, rundown area of the city. The historic homes and buildings they passed had not been well cared for over time.

"Take a left at this next street and stop," Neil said. "It's that place, right here on the corner."

The palm trees and bushes had aged well, but the tall apartment building looked like it had weathered a few hurricanes in its day. Joe and Jackson started checking their weapons and radioed to the agents in the other vehicle.

"She's been still for ten seconds," Neil said. "I can't figure out what she – wait. Her elevation is rising. They're in an elevator."

"We need to find out what floor they're on. Take her final elevation from ground level here and estimate a height of ten feet per floor."

"Divided by ten… I'm coming up with eight and a half, Jackson."

"Then we'll have to sweep floors eight and nine."

"No, wait," Lisa said, thinking of the Lux. "It's eight. The lobby probably has higher ceilings."

"Impressive," Neil grinned in approval. "Floor eight it us. I'm printing a map of the building including stairwells and apartment numbers." He handed the paper to Joe the second it was out of the travel-sized printer.

"She hasn't been moving this whole time," Lisa said quietly, watching the laptop screen. "Does that mean…?"

"We'll only know once we're up there," Jackson said. "But you're not coming with us."

They had the argument right there in the car. Joe stepped in when the bickering got too heated. "She's just as invested in this as you are. She's coming."

Jackson shrugged like the argument had been irrelevant in the first place. "Then you get to babysit her."

He and the rest of the team filed across the apartment lot and into the building. Lisa brought up the rear, irritated and a little scared. The lobby and elevator were confirmed empty and safe. Neil pointed at the lobby's high ceiling and gave Lisa a cheesy thumbs-up. She smiled in spite of the tension.

One agent checked out the stairwell and the rest of the group took the elevator. They spread out in the grimy hallway on the eighth floor. Neil silently indicated the target apartment.

"We'll move slow," Jackson whispered to his assembled team. "We're going in blind but not defenseless. You six are the best the Company has to offer. Let's go rescue our politician."

An agent ducked low and tested the apartment's door handle. 'Locked,' he mouthed. He moved a few feet away and prepared to shoot out the lock, when the door suddenly snapped open. Paloma was shoved into the hallway. The door slammed shut again.

"Paloma!" Lisa called in a loud, surprised whisper.

Paloma's head spun at the sound of Lisa's voice. "Lisa!" she cried, right as the door shuddered in its frame from two muffled explosions. Paloma sucked in air to scream – and then her eyes rolled up into her skull with terrible finality. Two bright red stains blossomed on the front of her billowy white shirt. Her knees buckled, no longer able to support her, and she slumped forward – dead.

"Get back! She was bait!" Jackson yelled. He pushed Joe and Lisa back down the hallway as a shotgun blast tore through the cheap drywall. More gunshots erupted from inside the apartment, splattering holes through the wall. The agent nearest the door let out an awful grunt, fell to the ground and coughed up a handful of blood.

Lisa shrank back another step as more shots were fired. The noise was deafening. An agent shimmied forward on his stomach just as another shotgun blast destroyed part of the doorframe. The wood sagged inward on broken hinges. The agent sighted through the crack between the door and its frame and expertly fired off three shots in deadly precision.

He and a second agent pressed the sudden advantage and boldly entered the suite, bloodthirsty guns in hand. Two more quick shots were fired. A second passed. Another shot—another second—two more shots—silence.

The first agent stepped back into the hallway. "Place is clear. But one of the fuckers got me," he growled, pressing the heel of his hand against his stomach.

"Good thing I gave you the best Kevlar, huh?" Jackson said, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by into the apartment.

The living room was wrecked. Five dead bodies littered the floor. Large splatters of blood covered the couch and armchair, grotesquely competing with the dingy floral pattern.

Lisa choked and reflexively covered her mouth. "Where's Keefe?"

"Over here, Miss Reisert," an agent called. "He's in the bedroom."

Calling it a 'bedroom' was a bit of a stretch. Keefe was laid out on a cot, unconscious. A familiar face glared up at Lisa as she entered, gingerly stepping over a discarded handgun.

"Lisa Reisert!" Bill Davis exclaimed. He was seated next to Keefe, his hands cuffed behind his back. "Didn't think my luck could get any worse. What are you doing here?"

"It's a really long story," Lisa replied with a wary frown. She had tried to avoid Keefe's head of security during her career, preferring to talk with Keefe himself. Davis had always been a little too condescending and prickly. "I can't tell you much, but I promise we're here to help."

"Oh yeah," Davis sneered. "Like you 'helped' on the plane, right?"

"Bill, Keefe would already be dead if I wanted him dead," Lisa said quietly, meeting his gaze with absolute conviction. "So when I say I'm here to help, don't be a dick."

Davis stared, a little dumbfounded at being told off by the previously cordial hotel manager. He shrugged, frustrated and helpless. "It was Keefe's dumb idea to come here and pick up Paloma. Where is she?"

"Dead."

Davis cursed. "At this point, I just want to keep my boss alive long enough to get the hell out of Miami. I hate this city."

"Try to wake Keefe up," Lisa directed, and moved back to the bedroom door. She was supposed to wait for Jackson's orders once Keefe had been safely secured. She watched Jackson circle the living room, inspecting the damage.

He touched a bullet lodged in the wall near the door; then snapped his fingers at the bodies bleeding into the carpet. "Strip them for identification." He continued his search of the room, stopping to pick up the discarded handgun. "How's Keefe?"

"Out cold," she replied, softly biting her lip. "But not dead."

Jackson glanced past her into the bedroom. "You – what's your name?" he asked the bodyguard.

"Davis, Keefe's head secur—"

"Do you know any of these men?"

"No," Davis replied, glancing between him and the bodies in the living room. "No, none of them."

"Is this your gun?" Jackson held up the handgun, dangling it by the handle.

"Yes. They disarmed me and cuffed me while I was unconscious."

"Where were you apprehended?"

"At the airport. Right when Keefe was getting into the limo."

"What direction did they come from? Any suspicious vehicles? Were they dressed as airport personnel?"

"I—well, they knocked me out first. I didn't see a thing."

Jackson scowled, his eyes dangerously cold. "We'll be leaving in a minute. I need to have a talk with my team. Lisa, stay in here and try to get Keefe awake. I don't want to carry him." He shut the door.

Lisa knelt by the cot. "You gotta wake up, Keefe. You're in trouble." She awkwardly tapped his cheek, then felt his forehead. "How long has he been out?" she asked Davis.

"We landed around noon. Probably 45 minutes. He got hit pretty hard. I thought we were dead once we left the airport. How the hell did you guys find us?"

Lisa briefly considered answering, but instead countered with a question of her own. "Did you see who was driving the limo? Or hear any names exchanged?"

Davis shook his head. "No idea."

Lisa refocused her efforts on rousing Keefe. "Wake up! Can you hear me? Keefe?" She smacked his cheek a few times. Guilt gnawed at her already frayed emotions. Paloma was lying dead in the hallway and it was Lisa's fault. She was trying to wake Keefe up into a nightmare that she'd personally helped create.

Davis clinked his handcuffs together and cleared his throat. "So what's the story with these guys?"

Lisa gritted her teeth, finding Davis' attempts at conversation annoying. "Umm… they're basically all assassins."

"How do you know you can trust them?"

"Because one of them is my dad."

Davis' eyes barely stayed put in their sockets. "Woah… never knew you had connections like that."

"Neither did I… Not until the red eye flight this summer. Like I said, it's a really long story."

She gently slapped Keefe's cheeks a few more times, but the politician didn't respond. At least he was safe, and that's what counted. With Keefe under their protection they could work together to bring down Hastings. She felt relieved and even smiled a bit, thinking of the near future when all would finally be put right.

Jackson opened the bedroom door. "We're moving. Is he awake, Leese?"

"Not yet," she sighed, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Where are we going?"

"Where doesn't concern you; only when—and that's now."

Lisa stared, dumbstruck by his tone. This wasn't the Jackson she had known for the past few weeks… this was the Jackson from the night of the red eye. Chills erupted down her spine.

"Hold on a minute," Davis jumped in. "We're on your side. Lisa told me you all were here to protect Keefe. You promised to help keep him safe."

Jackson's lips lifted into a cruel smile. "Guess I lied."

Lisa stopped breathing.

Jackson moved away from the door and yelled at his agents. "Get Keefe and the bodyguard loaded into the van. I want two of you on cleanup now. Everyone's cleared out in five. Get Affague on the phone, tell him the target was previously intercepted but is now under control."

She simply watched, so confused and overwhelmed she couldn't move. Blood thundered through her head with every heartbeat. "Jackson… what are you doing?" she whispered.

He obviously couldn't hear her as he continued to direct the Company agents. He was the nexus of a tightly controlled storm intent on destroying her world.

A few agents knelt by their fallen comrade in the hallway and shared soft words of parting. None came to offer her the same courtesy, although she felt equally dead inside. Even Joe refused to look at her, and she watched in agony as he left the suite without a backward glance.

Three agents came to remove Keefe and Davis from the bedroom, and something in her snapped. In a flash she was on her feet—screaming—screaming like her existence was ending—her hands caught at fabric and latched on, pulling Keefe toward her and snarling ferocious words of hate and agony—male voices yelled and she pulled harder, refusing to give up the very last thing that embodied the fight she'd begun so long ago. Keefe's shirt started to give under her grip, the fabric straining from the force—but suddenly an inch slipped from between her fingers—and then a second—and suddenly two arms like steel wrapped around her body and yanked her sideways—Keefe's shirt was ripped from her grasp—her body abruptly slammed against the wall and she crumpled to the floor. The impact prematurely tore her breath from her lungs and probably cracked a rib. She gasped for air and watched Keefe's limp body vanish through the doorway.

NO!" she screamed, wildly lunging at the bedroom door to follow Keefe. Jackson intercepted her movement with a vice-like grip around her throat.

"Shut up," he snarled quietly. It was the same voice he'd used in the airplane bathroom. _Don't fight me…_

"Let me go! Have you lost your mind!?"

Jackson lost patience with her. He clamped his other hand around her throat and squeezed – and suddenly they were right back in that damn airplane bathroom, where she had first glimpsed the true demon that lurked behind his blue eyes.

"You know, you really don't understand me, Leese." His words were slow and calm, even as Lisa gulped and strained for air under his grip. "I destroy other people's lives so I can live comfortably—no, fuck that—so I can _profit_ off of hatred and misery. What type of man did you envision me as, to make that statement without flinching the way you just did?"

Blackness swarmed at the peripherals of her vision… but Jackson was well practiced in torture, and loosened his grip just before she would have passed out. Lisa choked so hard she thought she might vomit. Air swelled in her lungs. Her throat itched and burned.

"I know that you hate my profession. It's foul, corrupt, immoral… But I think you hate _yourself_ even more because the blood that runs in your veins comes from a man who did the _same exact thing_."

Lisa hadn't quite regained her breath, and was only able to weakly snarl, "Fuck you, Jackson! You're a fucking—"

"Yes, yes, I know Leese. I'm a fucking prick who lied to you, threatened you and used you. You're not telling me anything new."

The perfectly bored tone he managed to pull off infuriated her, but far worse, brought tears to her eyes. _I hate you, Jackson. How could you do this? I wanted to trust you…_

He sneered at her, huddled motionless against the wall, and drifted his fingers through her hair. She shivered, her body responding even now to his touch. "You're so naïve, Leese. We all let you keep your fanciful notion of saving Keefe because it was the only way you would cooperate. My Company has a reputation to protect. If certain people find out we turned against one of our own clients, we'd be finished. All of us would be dead in a month, you included."

Cop sirens started up in the distance, the sorrowful wails mirroring her anguish. Jackson smiled, as if the grim challenges of his business simply made his life more enjoyable. "It's time to go."

He took her arm and walked her to the waiting elevator. She obeyed, feeling as numb and limp as the last time he had broken her. She didn't even try to resist or struggle. What was left to fight for?

"My father…" She wanted it to be a threat, but it shrank into a pathetic, half-formed question.

Jackson pressed the button for the bottom floor. "Joe agreed to do what is best for the Company. He's doing you a favor, remember. He's keeping you alive."

She didn't move—didn't blink—just stared into space and waited for the elevator to reach the lobby.

Finally Lisa spoke, her voice a broken whisper. "I wish you were the person I met at the airport… not on the plane."

He looked at her, eyes sinister and dark. "I can't say the same about you."

And although she desperately tried to find comfort somewhere in that statement, all she saw was despair.

:o:

:o:

:o:


	19. Chapter 19

She barely remembered exiting the elevator, being thrust inside the windowless van, or watching dumbly as Keefe and Davis were thrown in after her.

What she did remember, with piercing, heartbroken shame, was the disappointed look on her father's face as he climbed inside and slammed the door.

He didn't even look at her as he spoke. "Don't start with me, Lisa. Jackson manipulates people for a living. You _know_ that."

"And _you_ knew he was still going to kill Keefe," she spat.

Joe didn't even flinch. "Yes. He made the final plans yesterday on the plane, while you were napping. I'm sure Jackson gave you his reasons."

"But you're the boss. Why couldn't you tell him to—"

"Because I agree with him."

Lisa nearly screamed in fury. The hot blade of betrayal strung far worse than the real one that had pierced her chest nearly two and a half years ago.

"Jackson's job is his life," Joe continued. "I wish he hadn't used that against you. You did all you could possibly do for Keefe. Now you have to realize that he is not the man you think he is. The government would be better off without him in power."

"Why are you even back here? Just stop talking!"

"No," he barked, channeling the industrious determination that had undoubtedly made him so good at his job. "I have no clue how you thought this would end, Lisa, but I know how important it is to you to save Keefe. They put me back here so I wouldn't interfere with their plans. So I am. I'm going to help you."

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Davis. "You get one call."

"Dad," Lisa whispered in shock. She knew what this phone call could lead to… and the fragile hope it sparked in her heart was both thrilling and terrifying.

The two men locked eyes as Joe continued. "If you have a backup plan, or anyone you can call who can help, do it now. It's not bugged, so talk freely. This paper lists the GPS coordinates for the place we're going. We'll be taking the eastern stairwell down to the fourth level. Keefe will be shot and left for dead. If you want to save your boss, you need reinforcements now. There's only one condition." He pointed at Lisa. "You never saw her."

Davis nodded, and Joe passed him the phone. Davis dialed; someone answered immediately. "Sir, it's Davis. Check this connection. Is it clean?"

'Sorry,' he mouthed to Joe. "It's protocol. I'm calling a friend of Keefe's. He'll bring plenty of help."

Lisa glanced nervously towards the front of the van, hoping the metal and plastic separating them from the drivers would be thick enough to muffle the conversation. She wondered if Jackson was up there, and her stomach clenched at the thought.

Davis' contact confirmed the line was clear, and Davis continued without preamble. "Look, Keefe has been compromised. We are in enemy hands, en route to this location…" He read the coordinates off the scrap of paper. "We're going to sublevel four. Don't take the eastern stairwell. There's about ten of them, maybe more as backup. They're all professionals. Everyone is armed. I've seen a suppressed Beretta and a couple 22's. One of them has an ACR. They've also got shotguns.

"Keefe is drugged… one of them slipped me a cell phone. I can't fully explain why. Internal sabotage. Estimated arrival is…" He glanced to Joe, who held up ten fingers and flashed them twice. "Twenty minutes or less. See you there."

Davis hung up and returned the phone to Joe. "I guess you're doing this for Lisa, huh? Guy running the show betrayed you or something?"

Joe didn't speak, just erased the call from the phone's log and placed it back in his pocket.

"Well, uh, thank you," Davis said, awkwardly rubbing his chin. "I've never felt more helpless in my entire career. Keefe is gonna be on a very short leash once we're out of this. Someone must really hate him."

Keefe's eyelids twitched. He sat up and winced, gingerly touching the back of his head.

"My head is killing me. Where's Paloma?" he muttered, the words groggy and weak.

Pepita no longer had a sister. Marco no longer had an aunt. Lisa realized she was the reason why, and wanted to be sick.

:o:

:o:

:o:

She heard the van's tires slide to a stop a split-second before she hit the wall. Had Davis' reinforcements caught up to them already? Her heart lurched in excitement as the back doors were unlocked and opened… until Keefe was hauled out and thrown to the ground.

"Who do you work for?" the politician demanded weakly, fighting to regain his feet.

"Shut up, old man," someone growled, pushing him back to the ground with the barrel of their shotgun.

Footsteps passed by the side of the van. "Tie his hands, then secure the eastern stairwell. I want every man within eyesight of another. We'll follow once it's been cleared." The commanding voice left no doubt in her mind as to who was still in control.

"Joe, get Lisa and the bodyguard out of the van. Then I want you to clear out. You don't need to be here for this."

Her dad gestured to Davis and Lisa to exit the van. He gave his best effort to smile but even the creases around his eyes looked sad. "Love you, Lisa."

"I love you dad," she whispered, and climbed out of the van.

They were in the middle of a half-constructed office park, but the structure in front of them was definitely not an office building. Judging by the squat levels and claustrophobic architecture, it was meant to be a parking garage. The steel and concrete skeleton rose toward the storm clouds that hung thick in the sky.

Two SUVs were parked nearby, filled with additional Company agents that Lisa had never seen before. Otherwise the area looked completely deserted, but she supposed the police, or whomever Davis had called for help, wouldn't exactly make their presence known with a friendly hello.

Behind her, Joe climbed into the driver's seat of the van and drove off. Even after once again assuming control of the Company, he was still willing to destroy it for her. Lisa just hoped the phone call would be enough.

She caught Jackson staring at her, and silently challenged his gaze until he spoke. "Something you want to say to me?"

"I…" _hate you— thought I knew you—can't stand the sight of you—thought I was in lo—_"I feel sorry for you."

Jackson's lip curled in anger, eyes flashing. "You know better than to waste your self righteous pity on me."

"You're so pathetic. Sometimes I felt like I was the most sad and wretched human being on the entire planet, but today has proved me wrong beyond all doubt. You are the cruelest, most vindictive person I've ever known and I don't care what happens to me, as long as it means I never have to see you again for the rest of my life."

"Maybe you'll get your wish." His strong, possessive hand wrapped around her waist, trapping her close to his chest. He bent his head to whisper sinuously in her ear. "But know that I'll miss you. You were a great fuck." He kissed her, hard and rough. Fury overtook her broken heart and she savagely bit his lip.

He pulled away with a hiss, eyes repressing a brief, confused flurry of emotions until his mask was in control once more. "Hold her still."

An agent secured her arms while Jackson retrieved a ring of duct tape from an SUV and tore off a strip. "I hope that's all you had to say. Silence is golden but duck tape is silver," he sneered, pressing said tape against her lips. "You know," he continued as he added a second layer, "I promised you a long time ago that cooperating with the Company would ultimately be in your best interest. Remember that? In the car, on the way back from Mexico? And look, here we are, months later, and I've somehow managed to keep you alive and healthy despite assassins, the police and entire government organizations wanting it otherwise. So even though you think these past few months were a lie, bear in mind that I kept my promise."

An agent signaled to him from the parking garage. "It's time."

:o:

:o:

:o:

They took the stairs because the elevators had not yet been installed. Company agents pressed against her from all sides as she and Jackson were escorted like royalty to the bottom level of the parking garage. Keefe and Davis were behind them, moving slower because their heads were covered with dark bags and their hands were cuffed.

Emergency lights illuminated every landing, but the earth overwhelmed the tiny, yellow pools of light the deeper they went. The bottom floor was dim, shadows gathering more readily in the corners. Twin rows of squat, concrete pillars ran the length of the space. The group moved to the open area between the pillars and formed a semicircle.

Lisa thought briefly of escape, but the agents guarded her with practiced eyes. There was no hope of sneaking past the agents posted outside or in the stairwell, either.

_Think, Lisa. It can't just end like this, not now, not here._

She heard a short blast of static on a nearby agent's headset, and like a well-trained pack of dogs, all weapons were simultaneously in hand, pointed across the concrete at the other flight of stairs.

"Sir, our visitors are here," one of them said to Jackson.

The reinforcements had arrived! Lisa's heart accelerated, adrenaline flooding her skin.

"As expected," he replied. "Let them come down."

Her breathing hitched. Expected? How were the reinforcements _expected?_ Had her father lied about the phone being bugged?

A life-long minute later, a group of people emerged from the far stairwell. A familiar voice casually called out across the parking garage. "Jackson. A pleasure to finally meet you and your excellent team in person."

Had Lisa's mouth not been taped shut, it would have dropped open in shock. It was Patrick Hastings.

The corrupt politician crossed the parking garage with his entourage. Among them was a short woman with curly brown hair who could only be Maria, known to the Company as Ella. She had screamed terrible things about Lisa while on speakerphone in the mall parking lot. Judging by the look on her face, those feelings were unchanged.

"Jackson," she said. "Please allow me to formally introduce you to my client, Mr. Hastings."

The two men met in the middle of the circle and shook hands. Hastings was tall and rapidly going bald. The gaunt hollows underneath his eyes suggested he hadn't slept well in days.

"First the Russians, then Ella, and now you," Jackson commented. "I take it you're concerned about your privacy, Mr. Hastings."

"Same as the rest of your clients, I'd expect," Hastings replied gruffly. "I'm only stepping in now to make sure this job is finished the way it should have been six months ago. Now, where is my dear friend Charles Keefe? I heard there was a disturbance at the airport earlier today. My sources tell me that someone was trying to beat us to the punch."

_Such a lie_, Lisa thought. Hastings himself was behind Keefe's abduction from the airport, though she didn't know why. Jackson had to realize that.

"Thank you for retrieving Keefe and contacting Ella. We are all assembled here now despite this setback, and I believe our motives are still aligned. We both want this disloyal parasite out of the way in order to further our own agendas. In fact…" His eyes flicked to Lisa, and settled on her face the way lions regard their meal. "At this point, I believe all we need is a scapegoat."

Jackson narrowed his eyes. "Why her?" he asked, faint curiosity the only emotion in his tone.

"Lots of reasons. Her face has already been on television. She's already been connected with Keefe, not to mention convicted for his attempted assassination. The public expects closure to her tragic story. And when it really comes down to it, a hotel manager can be… persuaded to admit she's guilty much easier than a trained assassin. Two weeks of brainwashing from my assistant and she'll be perfect."

Both men turned to stare at her. She forced her eyes shut under the combined ferocity of their gazes. _Please Jackson_, she begged silently. _I don't understand._

"Fine. She's been nothing but a pain in my ass. However, I'll need her back eventually."

"Let's talk details later," Hastings replied with a smooth, gleaming smile. "You have a job to finish first."

"_She's_ the one finishing it." Jackson pinched a corner of the tape and ripped it off Lisa's skin. The pain was searing, and lingered like a smack to her face.

Jackson snapped his fingers at Keefe, whom an agent dragged forward and pushed to his knees in front of her. Jackson pulled Davis' handgun from inside his jacket and held it out to her. "Let's see it, Leese."

"I'm not doing your dirty work for you!" she choked.

"We've known each other a long time now, Lisa, so let's not make this complicated. Just—kill—Keefe."

"Not gonna threaten my father first?" she sneered, grasping for anything that would distract him.

"I don't think you'd be any more cooperative than the first time I tried that." He pushed the gun into her grasp, pointed it toward Keefe and turned off the safety.

Hastings took a half step forward, his eyes fixed on the weapon in Lisa's hands. "Jackson, you shouldn't—"

A long, wicked knife appeared in Jackson's fist, and he pointed it at Hastings. "Shut up. This is still my hit, and I dictate how this man dies."

Jackson stepped closer to Lisa, trailing the knife up her arm. She shuddered, revolted by the metal on her skin. "I warned you to cooperate with us a long time ago. You didn't. This is the result."

Lisa stared at the cold piece of metal in her hands, helpless as her options shrank. She could shoot Jackson, but the Company agents would kill her and Keefe. She could shoot Hastings, but she would probably still end up in prison and Keefe would still die. She could shoot herself, but she had survived this long and refused to die by her own hand.

How long had it been since Davis called for help? What if the police had already arrived and were infiltrating the parking garage at this very moment? Hell, Hastings and his crew had shown up faster than they had! She needed to stall for more time…

"There's no one left to help you, Leese," Jackson murmured smoothly into her ear, so softly she was sure no one else heard.

That phrase… where had she heard it before?

Lisa looked around the circle of unsmiling faces, everyone tensely waiting for her to pull the trigger. Even Keefe – head drooping toward the floor – looked like he had accepted his fate. He deserved a long prison sentence for his involvement with weapons trafficking, but not this. Not a bloody death in the dirt.

"_Now_, Lisa."

She gave up on Davis' people reaching them in time. There was no one left to help her…

_If there's no one left to help you, you're on the wrong side…_

The source of the phrase came rushing back to her. Jackson himself had told her that, after they had visited Pepita and Marco in Orlando.

She gazed steadily at Jackson who was watching her expectantly in turn, and for a second—just a brief, subtle moment—his steely façade slipped. The coldness left his eyes and he tilted his head to the side—which to anyone watching would look like impatience—but from experience she knew it meant he had a trick up his sleeve and was just waiting for the right time to play it…

Why on earth would he be looking at her like _that?_

A tiny, nearly inconceivable possibility bloomed in her mind. She glanced around the circle, eyes lingering on Keefe with renewed focus.

She looked at Davis, still blindfolded and oddly silent, despite the fact his boss was about to be murdered.

When she glanced at Jackson once more, he had the gall to raise an eyebrow at her and tilt his head further – the tilt now obviously pointing at Bill Davis.

And suddenly, Lisa came to a very startling revelation. Sheila had made a huge mistake in that mall parking lot.

"_If Hastings didn't want you to know than you should respect his decision!"_ Sheila had yelled at Maria. _"You're overreacting… Get off the phone, let me talk to Davis!"_

The male voice Lisa had subsequently heard on the call had sounded familiar at the time, but now, several days and one disturbing twist later it all came together.

"_I'm calling a friend of Keefe's."_ The phone call had been a trap to test the bodyguard's loyalty, and she now had her answer. Davis had not called for help in the back of the van. Davis had called Hastings.

The gun was warm against the contours of her sweating palm. She rubbed her hand against her jeans, but the perspiration stuck to her skin like oil.

"Lisa," Jackson said. "You know what you have to do?"

The resolute look in her eyes was answer enough.

"Then do it," he commanded, taking a step back.

Later, Lisa would pick through that memory over and over again – replaying every movement, every word, every ragged breath she had drawn while holding that damn gun.

But for the moment, Lisa realized that Jackson had not thrown her into the role of pitiful executioner – he had _armed_ her for the coming fight. Clever bastard.

She raised the gun, hands purposely shaky and loose around the grip to fool anyone watching too close.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Lisa spun and shot two bullets into Bill Davis' left knee, almost point-blank. He went down instantly – so shocked his screams didn't begin until a few seconds later.

In the span of those few seconds, everyone else moved.

Half of the Company agents, including Jackson, leapt forward to protect Keefe, the other half opened fire on Hastings' men.

Hastings ducked behind his men and dodged to the side of the commotion and sprinted straight at Lisa, downing the agent next to her with a quick shot to the gut.

She aimed at Hastings and resolutely pulled the trigger, anticipating the jolt and roar of fire.

Nothing happened—shit—she squeezed it again—shitshitshit—and right as Lisa realized the clip was empty Hastings landed a heavy punch on her jaw. She fell to the concrete. Liquid—blood—flooded her mouth, and she spat like people did in the movies and for a moment marveled at the mess her life had become.

Hastings scooped her up by an armpit and dragged her backward through the parking garage.

She saw Jackson push Keefe safely behind a pillar, but then the assassin stumbled to the ground. He had taken a bullet in his leg.

"Jackson!" she screamed, but her voice was lost in the crack of gunshots and the reverberating rumble.

The opposing groups had scattered, seeking cover behind the twin rows of pillars as they exchanged shots. Hastings' men shot blindly around the sides, while the Company agents worked as a professional team. Half would open fire, covering the other half who expertly sniped at exposed enemy elbows and feet.

The close proximity had turned the firefight into a bloody massacre. A bullet whistled past her head. She thrashed wildly until Hastings cuffed her again and put a gun to her head.

"Quit it! I only need you alive, not conscious." Hastings hunched down and used her as a shield all the way to the stairwell. He shoved her through the door, where a swarm of his men were preparing to join the fight against the Company's agents. Maria ducked inside the stairwell behind them.

"How many of ours we got up there?" Hastings asked.

"Thirty or forty," Maria replied. "At least two on every level of the garage and twenty more on the perimeter. We're keeping communication tight."

Lisa's heart sank. Even with their superior tactics, the Company agents were horribly outnumbered…

"We're going all the way to the top. If anyone follows us, they're getting shot. I don't care if it's my own mother. I won't stop to ask questions. Cuff the girl. Maria, make sure you call in the helicopter."

One of Hastings' thugs forced Lisa's wrists behind her back and wrapped them with a plastic zip-tie, then tightly secured it with a harsh, vibrating snap.

"Move!" Hastings commanded, shoving her up the steps. The gunshots from the basement echoed all the way up the stairwell.

At the ground floor of the parking garage, a familiar voice called her name. "Lisa! What happened down there?" It was Neil, sandwiched between two burly guards.

"Shut up," one of them growled, elbowing him in the ribs. "We found this punk in the van after he jammed our radio signal. What should we do with him?"

"Tell him to fix whatever he broke, you idiots."

"Go to hell!" Neil yelled.

There was a sharp crack behind Lisa, and Neil jerked, an odd look in his eyes. He coughed once—twice—and the third time brought up blood. Lisa saw the dark stain spreading across his chest, and he collapsed on the floor in much the same way Paloma had died a few hours earlier.

"NEIL!" Lisa screamed, running forward.

Hastings caught her arm before she could reach Neil, and she managed to kick him hard in the leg before he slammed a left hook straight into her gut. She went down hard, stomach cramping in shock. One of the guards pulled her back to her feet.

Hastings looked at Maria, who was calmly reloading her gun. "Was it necessary to kill him? He would have been useful."

"Not as useful as her," Maria answered, dark eyes fixed on Lisa. "Keep moving. The helicopter is on its way now."

Without warning, Maria smacked Lisa—_hard_—across the face. "That's for Greg, you whore," she snarled.

"Wh-Who?" Lisa gasped, unable to touch her stinging skin.

"My boyfriend. The one you _fucking ran over_."

Lisa blinked, thinking back to that morning after the terrifying night on the plane, and remembered the guy she had sent flying through her father's glass front door. She said the only thing that came to mind. "He was shooting at me."

"Bitch!" Maria grabbed Lisa's wrist and gave a fierce, upward yank. Lisa shrieked as something in her wrist snapped and pain flooded up her arm.

Hastings laughed and pushed Lisa up the stairs. They climbed higher and higher, passing pairs of brutish, beady-eyed men on every landing. Lisa's hands ground together with each awkward step. Her broken wrist throbbed, and when she stumbled and fell at one point she felt the bone shattering into thousands of splinters underneath her skin.

By the time they emerged on the top floor, the helicopter was already in sight, about a mile away from the roof of the parking garage. A black Audi was parked nearby, but Lisa didn't see a driver.

The roof was completely exposed to the turbulent sky. The dark clouds scattered a few drops of rain, and wind from the coming storm whipped through Lisa's hair. Far away, lightning stabbed the ground on the horizon.

She eyed the helicopter as it drew closer, the _whump–whump–whump_ of its rotors now audible. Once Hastings shoved her into that helicopter, she was finished. She glanced at the staircase, but there was no way to make it back down, at least not while it was packed with Hastings' men, and certainly not with a broken wrist tied behind her back.

The parking garage had a wide, central ramp ringed with flat, open space for parking. If she had a head start, she might have a shot at outrunning him by taking the ramp down. But when she reached the ground floor, what then? Keep running until she found help?

"Have you ever flown in a helicopter before?" Hastings asked.

"No, but I'll jump out of one if I have to."

Hastings rolled his eyes. "Your generation really gets on my nerves. So theatrical about everything."

Suddenly the helicopter exploded into an enormous ball of flame. Sparks shot everywhere and a heat wave rolled across Lisa's skin right. Two of the rotors went flying and gravity sucked the machine to the ground. The booming impact was matched by crackling, guttural thunder.

"Shit!" Hastings screamed, hauling Lisa behind him as he ran for the edge of the roof. The crushed helicopter burned in the distance, weeping clouds of black smoke.

Far below, Lisa saw a man dump a bulky piece of equipment and take off running. She squinted at the man as he climbed inside a waiting van, and then her eyes widened in shock.

"Dad?" Her father had just shot down a helicopter with a rocket launcher. "You are so cool. I love you, dad," she whispered.

"Looks like we're moving to plan B, my dear," Hastings growled, taking her to the parked Audi. His hand temporarily left her arm when he opened the passenger door and reached for his gun.

Lisa saw her chance and kicked the door with all her weight. It rocketed back on its hinges, catching Hastings in the chest and knocking him over. The gun flew from his grasp and skidded several feet away. For a half-second Lisa considered going after it, but she knew the weapon was useless while her wrists were locked together. She took off running in the opposite direction, her stance wobbly at first but soon gaining momentum as she sprinted toward the concrete railing that marked the boundary of the parking garage's ramp. She didn't dare throw a glance over her shoulder, terrified of what she would see, and also sure that the motion would through her off balance. Thunder boomed overhead, accompanied by fat, wet drops of rain.

The thunder came again—no, wait, that was a _gunshot_—a moment later the searing burn in her left calf muscle caught up to her brain and pulled her down to the concrete, where she lay helpless and bloody. Lisa had known that the bastard would shoot her—she'd left him the gun, of course he would shoot her—but the defeat still twisted in her gut and left her writhing in pain and agony.

She screamed in desperation when Hastings latched on to a fistful of her hair and dragged her all the way back to the Audi. He threw her into the passenger seat, bizarrely enough pausing to buckle her in. "I've kept you alive this long, you little bitch. Don't fuck this up now!" He slammed the door and walked to the other side of the car.

She threw her weight against the seatbelt, trying to position her hands against the buckle release, but a piercing blow crushed her sore head against the car window. She recoiled from the glass in a groggy daze.

"Knock it off!" Hastings roared, showering the interior of the car with blood and spit. He shut his door and started the car.

"Aww… look Lisa." His fingernails sank into her chin as he forced her to look out of the window. Lisa groaned, patches of her vision going strangely dark and blotchy, but she saw Jackson emerge from the shadows of the ramp under the garage overhang.

"It's your boyfriend, come to rescue you. Funny how he wants you back now, when he was so eager to get rid of you earlier. He may get you back eventually, but I intend to keep you as long as it takes to get my name cleared."

Hastings stuck his hand out the car window and fired a few rounds at Jackson, who awkwardly ducked and then limped out of sight. She remembered his leg had been injured in the shootout. How the hell had he made it all the way up here?

Hastings' eyes gleamed with unhinged delight. "Not wise to run, Jackie boy. How about we go knock some _sense_ into him?"

_What are talking about you crazy motherfucker_, Lisa thought, and then gasped in fear as Hastings revved the engine and threw the car into drive. The Audi accelerated down the ramp toward his limping figure.

The rows of pillars in the basement were mirrored on this level, providing structural support and the only cover Jackson had.

_Run, you idiot!_ Lisa screamed in her head. _You can't help me!_

He was still twenty feet away from the closest pillar. As the vehicle bore down on him, Jackson leaned to the right, preparing to jump for the pillar, and Hastings angled the car to intercept him. At the last possible second, Jackson reversed his balance and leapt to the left. Hastings swore; the car lurched as he tried to redirect the tires, but the momentum was too great and the car slid harmlessly past Jackson.

"Leave him alone!" Lisa shrieked. "You already said you only wanted me! He has nothing to do with this anymore."

"Such a sweet sentiment, Miss Reisert. But you're wrong," Hastings replied as he swung the car around a concrete pillar and aimed for Jackson. "He is a considerably important loose end. I'm not letting him out of here alive."

Jackson was heading for the staircase on the far side of the parking garage. The car shot forward again, plowing straight for him. Jackson glanced at the car and the distant staircase, and with lightning quick thinking realized he wouldn't make it in time. He changed his course toward the nearest pillar. The pain from forcing his aching leg to move faster was evident on his face.

"Not gonna make it!" Hastings cackled, leaning forward over the steering wheel.

The car jumped ahead, closing another precious few feet of the rapidly shrinking gap. Jackson glanced over his shoulder—Lisa could see the sheer panic in his eyes and for a split second she was shocked that someone like Jackson could ever truly be scared—and then the car blew through the space where his body had just been, the left side of the car cracking as it scraped the pillar.

Hastings swung the Audi into a controlled 180. The tires squealed to a stop, the car pointed at the pillar it had just passed.

Jackson was lying on the ground at the base of the pillar—head bloody, eyes closed.

Lisa let out a strangled cry, but then Jackson's head moved, and she realized he was injured, but not _dead_, and she swallowed her heart back down her throat and screamed terrible, vile things at Hastings to anger him, unnerve him, _distract_ him—but Hastings threw his elbow into her nose and tuned her out even as her blood and cries of pain flooded the car.

Jackson dragged himself to his feet.

The car barreled forward, tires fishtailing as they gained traction against the concrete.

Jackson's leg gave way and he slumped heavily against the pillar, wearily watching his death approach at the hands of a madman. He had probably envisioned his death a thousand different ways over his lifetime, Lisa realized with terrible clarity, but doubted that being creamed into a concrete pillar in a parking garage had been among those potential scenarios.

She tried to force her hands out of the zip-tie, gasping at the stinging pain when something in her wrist cracked. She seethed at Hastings—helpless—furious—_pissed_ that someone so evil and twisted was about to destroy the best thing that had ever happened to her…

And then, she knew what she had to do.

_Head butts are a powerful move in any fight_—Lisa slid her hands into place right above the seatbelt release, focusing all of the strength in her fingers down onto that shiny plastic button, and even above the roar from the engine she heard that satisfying, sacred click—_although the element of surprise is just as important as performing the move correctly_—she twisted her shoulder, unhooking the seatbelt as she planted her feet against the floor for leverage—_the crown of the head, right along the hairline_—her muscles contracted, tensed, expanded—then her skull connected with Hastings' in one decisive downward stroke—

Hastings' head cracked against the window and he lost consciousness an instant later, but in that split second he had jerked the wheel hard enough to the right to lock up the tires.

Rubber burned into the floor as the car slid out of control, the stench and the awful squeal of tires drowning out everything but the thought that she was going to die. A high, panicked scream erupted from her lips.

All at once, the car shook—the screeching stopped—millions of cracks grew across the windows and showered her with glass—and the impact wrenched Lisa sideways into Hastings.

A terrible smell like burning oil infiltrated her nose. She lay frozen in shock for only a moment before shifting back to her side of the car. She glanced over at Hastings, the look turning into a horrified stare.

The politician's head had been leaning against the window when the left side of the car crumpled into the parking garage pillar. The impact had thrust jagged pieces of glass deep into his skin and then crushed his face against concrete. Blood seeped steadily down the driver's side door…

If he had been alive before, he was dead now.

And just like that, it was over.

Lisa took a deep breath of air. The blood rushing through her head crept away, leaving only the white noise of heavy rain and rolling thunder.

_Jackson._

He had been leaning against that pillar… Where was he?

Her hands were still locked in the zip-tie. She turned sideways and opened the door with her good hand, clumsily falling out of the car and smacking her broken wrist and skull against the concrete floor. The pain threatened to swallow her whole, but Lisa was no stranger to dragging herself half-dead off the ground.

She rolled to her side and bent her knees, then awkwardly threw her weight to the left and pushed herself up with her good arm. She winced as bruised skin stretched across cramped muscles. Her left calf was bloody and sore. After a quick glance she realized the bullet had torn through skin but not actually punctured her muscle. Nonetheless, both legs felt like they were plated in lead.

"Move, move, move," she panted, unsteadily getting to her feet.

She circled the car, knowing the sight of Jackson's mangled body underneath the wrecked, smoking car was going to be unbearable…

But he wasn't there.

For a very long, bizarre moment, Lisa wondered if he actually had supernatural powers and had somehow managed to spirit himself out of danger.

"Jackson?" she asked out-loud, her voice small in the wake of a long rumble of thunder.

A terrible, hacking cough echoed around the parking garage. "Leese…"

Her mind spun, dizzy with nausea and shock. She rushed to the other side of the pillar. Jackson was on the ground, back leaning against the pillar. His face was pale; his clothing stained and ripped beyond repair. He winced when his left hand touched a bloody gash on his forehead. His right hand still clutched his knife, the blade coated in red.

"Shit," Lisa breathed as she dropped to her knees. She tried to ignore the pool of blood collecting underneath the driver's side door. "Jackson, are you–"

"You're not allowed to ask me if I'm okay," he interrupted, calmly wiping off the knife blade on his pants.

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Then cut my hands free. And explain to me what exactly just happened."

With one smooth flick of the blade, her hands were loose and tingling. She gently massaged her broken wrist.

"I jumped out of the way," he said, sheathing his knife. "I didn't like my odds versus the car."

"I meant earlier," she snapped. "When you betrayed me, locked me in the back of a van, taped my mouth shut, put a gun in my hand and ordered me to shoot Keefe. You even agreed to hand me over to _Hastings_. What the _hell_ was going through your head!?"

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he asked, his lips spread in a taunting, bloody grin. "Keefe is alive, Hastings is dead, and after this you never have to see me again. Your life should be perfect right about now."

Lisa felt like her insides had been dumped onto the pavement. "But, Jackson…" She stalled, her mind furiously trying to rebuild the past several hours.

"It had to be this way. I know I've told you before, but you're a terrible liar. One false move from you and Davis would never have called Hastings and revealed himself, and Hastings would have seen straight through you. Everything hinged on him believing I was going through with the hit as planned."

"After that night at your apartment, I trusted you," she said quietly, voice shaking. "And you… you turned into the monster I met on the red eye. You turned your back on me. You _lied_ to me."

"It was my job. You know I regret it." He coughed and spit blood on the ground. "But tearing out your heart was the only way to give you what you wanted. I hope it's made you happy."

_Happy?_ Lisa wanted to crawl into a hole and die. She stared into his eyes, wanting to find the Jackson who had snuck into her dressing room in Houston, or rolled the car window down on her while driving through a rain storm; the Jackson that had protected her from Affague and let her use his phone to talk to her dad, then later kissed her senseless in his office. She wanted to find the Jackson whom she'd spent one incredible night with, surrendering all notions of right and wrong while in his arms…

But all she saw were the cold, flat eyes of a stranger. The conniving, manipulative Jackson from the plane was irrevocably in control. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to recognize _her_ Jackson in that soulless stare.

A car swung around the corner of the parking garage, tires squealing as they fought for traction. Lisa immediately stood, alarmed that it was Hastings' thugs, but Jackson coughed again and rasped, "It's Cynthia."

"You called _Cynthia?_"

"Lisa!" the redhead wailed as she slammed the brakes and opened her door. "I got shot at! Look at my car!" Cynthia waved at the web of cracks on the left side of the windshield. "Oh-my-god, Lisa!" she said, throwing her arms around Lisa in a tight hug. "You're bleeding! Was there some sort of fight? Why are all you guys here?" She eyed the wrecked Audi. Lisa was glad that Hastings was hidden out of sight on the other side of the pillar.

"I'll explain everything in the car. Who was shooting at you?" Lisa asked, worried that Hastings' men were still on the loose.

"Some guards, I guess. They apologized once I told them Jackson had called me here. They said to tell you that Keefe is fine," she continued, turning to Jackson. "They're cleaning up and will be ready to leave soon. They also said I should talk to you about getting my windshield fixed."

"I'll have it taken care of," Jackson scowled, getting to his feet and leaning heavily against the pillar. "Lisa, pay attention. Shit's about to hit the fan. Hastings is dead. Keefe's bodyguard and dozens of hired hitmen are lying dead nearby. Six men and a hooker are dead in an apartment twenty miles away. In the next few days Keefe's gonna get hauled in for questioning by every single government organization that can flash a badge. He'll come up with some story to cover his ass and may or may not work in a way to get your name cleared too."

"I know Keefe. He'll try to help me."

"He's a politician, and clearly not an honest one. It's himself he's worried about first. Cynthia, you need to take Lisa straight to your apartment. Joe will be there with instructions on what to do next."

"Lisa's dad? How does he know where I live?" Cynthia asked.

Jackson and Lisa shared a long glance.

"There's a lot I need to tell you…" Lisa said, taking Cynthia's arm and leading her back to the car. She glanced over her shoulder at Jackson, hesitating as dozens of questions formed on her lips. "Is Keefe going to be alright?" she asked.

"Your dad is explaining the situation to him right now."

"Will you be alright?"

"Just go, Leese," he replied, his voice tired and a little shaky.

Lisa couldn't bring herself to argue. She climbed into the car. Cynthia executed a perfect three-point turn to point the car back down the ramp. They circled down to the ground floor, where a Company medic quickly checked Lisa's broken wrist and various other bumps and bruises before allowing them to leave the office park.

"You know I'm more than a little freaked out by all of this, Lisa," Cynthia said, merging onto the highway towards the city. "When I saw that number calling my phone, I thought you were dead. Can you tell me anything about what happened back there?"

"Jackson saved Keefe. My dad saved my life. He shot down a helicopter with a rocket launcher."

"Joe did!? That's soo cool! Hey, what about that blond guy I met? Neil? Did he shoot anyone? Is he ok?"

Lisa winced. "Oh Cynthia… I don't know. I'm sorry…"

The redhead fell silent. Lisa stared out the window into the miserable gray sky.

So much blood. So much death. So many lies and tears and angry words.

She had just left Jackson behind in a parking garage with a corpse.

She hadn't even thanked him for saving Keefe – something she'd been desperately fighting for since the night of the red eye.

Jackson had known her wish, and like some twisted fairy tale he had ripped her world apart at the seams in order to grant it.

Would she have desired Keefe's safety so fiercely if she had known it would be at the expense of so many lives?

_I thought I was doing the right thing…_

But the doubt and the guilt and the blame were there, lodged in the back of her throat like a terrible, raspy itch, and it was all because of Jackson.

Could she really thank him for that? Could she ever _forgive_ him for that?

Outside, the storm raged relentlessly, and the rain cried with her all the way to Cynthia's apartment.

:o:

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	20. Chapter 20

Joe showed up at Cynthia's apartment at dawn the next morning, accompanied by an entourage of Company agents. Lisa's heartbeat kicked up a notch as she glanced from face to face, but Jackson was not among them. She exhaled, relief and disappointment at odds in her mind. Lisa barely had time to promise Cynthia a phone call before being swept out of the building and into the backseat of a sedan. Two agents sat up front while her dad took the seat next to her. Lisa knew by his red eyes and unkempt hair that he hadn't slept at all.

"Keefe is flying back to Washington," Joe explained curtly. "I made him promise me two things. First, he discontinues the smuggling gig. A little extra money on the side isn't worth two hits on his life in one year. Second, when your name comes up during the CIA's internal investigation, he does whatever it takes to establish your innocence and protect your privacy."

She smiled and offered a soft thank you.

"We're going home," her father said. "Everything has been taken care of. It's over."

:o:

:o:

:o:

The media found out about the entire incident later that day.

A leaked photo of Hastings' bloody, bashed face combined with a video of a helicopter exploding – the helicopter her dad had taken down with a rocket launcher – were the first things to leak.

By mid-morning, the reporters knew a sensational story huddled just barely out of their reach. As questions started to pour in from all sides, Keefe seized his moment in the spotlight as only a politician could.

Over the next two days, Hastings was exposed as a crooked government official who blackmailed colleagues for money to fuel his vicious gambling addiction. When Keefe discovered this and threatened to report him, Hastings attempted to have him assassinated. The story was a load of nonsense, but Lisa conceded that it was smart of Keefe to lead the trail of the investigation away from the weapons smuggling – the real reason Hastings had been pissed at Keefe in the first place.

Just as Jackson had predicted back in the parking garage, Keefe escaped the entire ordeal with barely a scratch to his professional reputation. He navigated every interview with an easy smile and bold answers, tempering his performance with tantalizing moments of anxiety and dread.

He refused to answer any questions about Lisa because she had specifically called and reiterated to Keefe to not say a word about her involvement. "Please don't let the media have a field day with my reputation – again – especially when I'll actually be in the country this time to witness it."

However, a gorgeous local talk show host proved to be his undoing.

"Lisa," Joe called from the living room. "You might want to come watch this." Lisa anxiously picked at the cast on her left wrist, one of the only lasting injuries from that awful day. _Physical injuries, _she corrected with a glum frown.

Lisa brought her laptop to the living room and settled next to her dad on the couch. Keefe was delivering another spirited routine on TV.

"I knew that this… this madman would stop at nothing to destroy myself and my family," he said solemnly, with a haunted look in his eyes.

"What can you tell us about Lisa Reisert, the Lux Atlantic employee charged with participating in the first assassination attempt earlier this year?" The talk show host delivered the line perfectly, her tone even and inquiring, and leaned forward in anticipation of Keefe's answer making her career. Lisa held her breath.

"Lisa Reisert is a hero," he revealed with a broad smile. "Without her, I would be dead. She had everything to do with bringing Hastings' numerous atrocities to light."

It wasn't much to go on, but the media latched onto it and gladly painted a new layer of depth onto Lisa's tormented character. She became the misunderstood exile, the under-appreciated citizen who endured enormous personal risk when gratitude was neither expected nor likely. And the public loved her for it.

"Lisa Reisert, formerly charged for her involvement with the Keefe assassination, voluntarily went undercover in a secret terrorist organization for several months earlier this year. She collected evidence despite tremendous risk to her personal health and safety. In the end, her quick thinking and tremendous bravery saved the life of Secretary of Homeland Security Charles Keefe from a second assassination attempt. All charges have been dropped against the former Lux Atlantic employee…"

Requests for interviews exploded across her publicist's desk, a woman her dad had hired. Lisa vaguely promised she would write a book, but firmly instructed the publicist to tell all interested callers that she needed time and privacy.

"Lisa, almost every customer here is asking about you," Cynthia gushed on the phone one evening, a week after the events in the parking garage. "Even Mr. and Mrs. Taylor came in and said they hoped you were okay. I just tell everyone that you're taking some time off and you'll be back to work soon. You will be back, right Lisa?"

"I have to think about it, Cynthia," Lisa replied, unprepared for her life to become… normal quite so soon. Her old self would have leapt headfirst back into work at the Lux Atlantic, eager to cover up painful memories with newer, happier ones. Her outlook was different now. She didn't want to run away from the experiences of the past several months, but she wasn't ready to fully confront them either.

Her father entered the kitchen and began to prepare some tea. Lisa said good bye a few minutes later and hung up the phone. "Dad," she sighed. "Would you mind if I stayed here for a few weeks?"

"As long as you need, pumpkin," he replied and kissed the top of her head. "Aren't you glad your room didn't get remodeled? You'd be sleeping on top of a putting green."

Lisa snorted at his smug look. "Aren't you a little old to say 'I told you so'?" she teased.

"With age comes wisdom," he returned with an innocent shrug.

"Would you mind using your infinite wisdom to answer a few questions I had?"

"I'll tell you whatever you need to know." He set two steaming mugs and a container of honey on the kitchen table, then sat directly across from her.

Lisa focused on stirring honey into her tea for a moment, unsure of where to start.

"You and Jackson never... had you really decided to kill Keefe on the plane ride to Miami?"

Joe raised his eyebrows. "I hope that's not actually a question."

"Right. Of course. Okay, so... everyone was really prepared to save Keefe, right? All of the Company agents?"

"That's right. Everything was on track until we got to the apartment building where Paloma died. Jackson realized Bill Davis, Keefe's bodyguard, had sold out to Hastings. He told us all while you were in the bedroom trying to rouse Keefe. We came up with the new plan on the spot. I know it was messy, but it was the best we could do."

"How did Jackson figure out Bill Davis was a bad guy?"

"Davis' handgun. All of Hastings' men were armed with rifles and shotguns. Davis' gun was the only 9-millimeter in the entire room, yet Jackson found 9-millimeter bullets lodged in the wall that bordered the hallway, where we were standing. Davis had been shooting at us, but when the odds turned against him, he dropped the gun, cuffed himself and pretended to be on our side."

"And in the back of the van, when you gave Davis your phone..."

"Jackson and I hoped he would call Hastings, to prove he was the weak link. We think Affague called Ella and tipped her off about our change in plans, which explains why they tried to take matters into their own hands and nab Keefe at the airport. Jackson also spoke to Ella, and through her, Hastings, to let them know we'd gotten Keefe back. Combined, it was enough to force Hastings' hand, and get him to come out of hiding."

"Have you heard anything about Affague?"

"No," Joe growled. "He's still underground, hiding in Europe just like a piece of scum should hide."

"And how about you? Do I have to worry about a phone call from jail?"

"Keefe convinced, or bribed, the people necessary to keep me out of prison. Hastings and his rogue CIA officers were enough to go around. The justice system won't be coming after me. As long as I stay retired and out of trouble, that is."

He pulled a paper off of the counter and handed it to her.

"Lisa, I want you to read this. I posted it yesterday."

She took the paper and quickly scanned the printed text.

_Memo to all Company employees:_

_I am retiring – for good this time. I do not want to see Jim Affague return and seize control of the Company, its employees, contracts and assets. I would only trust the future of the Company to one individual, but he has refused the job._

_Therefore, I have decided to permanently shut down the Company. All contracts have been frozen. All assets will be sold. Every server will be wiped and destroyed. I thank you for your time and devotion to this business. I hope your unique talents and dedication to perfection will take you far in any career you choose._

_Best of luck, Joe Reisert_

"You fired everyone at the Company," Lisa said, dumbfounded.

Joe shrugged. "They'll find jobs. All of them really are remarkably talented."

"Dad, do you realize you just fired a building full of assassins?"

Joe grinned. "I hired some of them back. I am now the proud employer of four lethal body guards."

Lisa wrinkled her nose but was secretly glad of the arrangement.

"You'll be happy to know that I personally made arrangements for Pepita and Marco. They're returning to their home in Cuidad Victoria, where you first met them."

"I'm glad to hear that. And the 'one individual' you asked must have been… Did Jackson really refuse to take over the Company?" she asked carefully.

Joe nodded with a wistful sigh. "Yes. He did. I'm glad he did, too. He deserves a better future."

"Did he… was he one of the ones you hired?"

"I didn't offer. He never _was_ a very good shot."

Her lips twitched in a smile. "He saved my life when it counted."

Her dad looked at her, his expression strange and sad.

"Lisa, I've been doing a lot of thinking. You're a grown woman. It's taken me years to finally understand what that means. I've always protected you, throughout your entire life, ever since you were born. And maybe… well, maybe I'm not the best person to do that anymore."

"Maybe I don't need protection," Lisa challenged with a raised brow.

"Oh, you'll always need that," Joe laughed with a wide grin. Lisa shot him a sour look. "You're my daughter. People out there have grudges, and they will come after you to make me pay. But, Lisa, in all seriousness, if you want to pursue a relationship with Jackson… sheesh, this is awkward. Just know that I love you both and I want to see you – both of you – happy."

She nodded slowly, unable to come up with any proper response. She thought of the times Jackson had made her so angry she could barely see straight, but also the way his mere presence was enough to set her heart racing.

"Have you talked to him?" Joe inquired. "I asked him where he'd been staying, but he wouldn't tell me. Now his phone is shut off."

She frowned, a whole mess of feelings rolling through her body. "No, I haven't talked to him. I guess I was waiting for…"

Her stomach flipped over on itself and dropped to the floor. She had been waiting for him to come back for her.

Lisa met her father's curious gaze, but didn't finish her thought.

"Well, if you happen to find him," Joe continued, "I want you to tell him something for me..."

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa lay awake in bed much later that night. Her thoughts spanned the night of the red eye, to the shock of discovering the history between Jackson and her dad, right here in the foyer of this house. She remembered the lonely months in Mexico after Marco and Pepita left; the drive back to Orlando where she had relived the fear that came from sitting too close to a demon. She thought of the spiral of events that inexorably wound her and Jackson together as she fought to save Keefe.

The tenuous, fragile truce they'd built had started to become something... more... and then Jackson had crushed it without apology or warning. She was left holding pieces of something that had already been small.

Lisa realized she'd been waiting for Jackson to return so they could figure out how to rebuild it, but she had the hunch that Jackson was not going to come after her this time.

Frustrated, Lisa rolled out of bed and maneuvered quietly into the kitchen downstairs. On autopilot, she turned on a stove burner and began to collect ingredients out of the fridge.

She snapped out of her thoughts right as her fingertips grazed the egg carton.

"No," she spoke out loud. This was not her. She was done with this Lisa.

If Jackson wasn't going to man up and come to Miami, she'd just have to go to Orlando and find his sorry ass.

:o:

:o:

:o:

Lisa left immediately after writing her dad a note, before the sensible part of her brain had time to talk her out of her decision. She took a taxi to pick up a rental car and drove four hours through the blackest part of the night, northwest along I-95. Along the way, she constructed dozens of conversations in her head – things she wanted to say, things she wanted to scream. None of it sounded right when spoken out loud.

The sky was beginning to emerge from darkness by the time she reached Orlando. She had no clue where Jackson's apartment building was located, and had no desire to spend tedious hours driving in circles around downtown.

She stopped in a 24 hour convenience store for a cup of coffee and a phone book. The only useful facts she remembered about Jackson's apartment building were the spa and computer businesses on the first floor. For ten frustrating minutes, she compared addresses for both types of businesses by flipping back and forth in the phone book.

Finally, she found a match between the Mezzanine Spa and Cosmic Computer, both located at 611 East Central Boulevard. The clerk helped her write down directions, and twenty minutes later she spotted the circular driveway out front of the familiar glass building.

Lisa parked in the lot attached to the building, pointedly ignoring the "Space Reserved for Spa Customers" sign. She entered the lobby.

The spa and computer businesses were closed, and thankfully no one was in sight. Lisa didn't know why this was so important. Had someone walked by at that moment, she felt like she'd need to explain everything. Why she was here, who she was going to see, how confused she was about the entire situation. It would be better to simply pass through the building like a ghost returning to the place it had died… although perhaps, in her case, she was seeking out the place where she had been reborn.

Lisa crossed to the elevator and stepped inside. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the correct floor. Had it been the ninth? Or the tenth? After a gut wrenching moment of indecision, she pushed the button for the tenth floor… and nothing happened. She jabbed the button again, and a third time for good measure.

Why wasn't the elevator moving? She must be doing something wrong. An insane thought filtered through her tired mind: what if Jackson had seen her and somehow disabled the elevator? Was he trying to prevent her from finding him? It was nuts but… what if?

She smacked all of the floor buttons again but the elevator simply wouldn't budge. And then she noticed it: the security keypad.

She swore out loud. To be stumped now, after she'd come so far… But before the infuriating setback ruined her mood, an opportunity – two of them – came waltzing through the lobby doors and into the elevator.

Lisa was ready with her story. "Hey," she said, her smile soft and shy. "I'm trying to surprise my boyfriend with breakfast in bed, but I can never remember the code to this elevator. Do you mind sneaking me in?"

The couple stared at her, judging her story. Their eyes were glazed over just like Lux customers after international flights.

"Breakfast?" the girl finally repeated. She turned to her boyfriend. "Can you make me breakfast, sweetie?"

"Sure, doll," the guy grinned as he punched in the code. "What floor?" he asked Lisa.

"Ten, please."

"I know you from somewhere," the girl said thoughtfully once the elevator started to move.

Lisa forced a tired smile. She didn't want to be recognized here in Jackson's building. There was a chance the information could eventually fall into the wrong hands.

"Do you ever visit the spa downstairs? Maybe we saw each other there at some point," Lisa suggested calmly.

The girl nodded, appeased by the explanation. "Must be. Their massage ladies are to die for."

The couple nearly fell out of the elevator on the ninth floor. "Good luck with your dude!" the guy called. The girl laughed and pulled him in close for a passionate kiss as the elevator doors slid shut. Lisa's stomach curled up into a knot. What if Jackson wasn't here? How crazy would she seem for leaving Miami in the middle of the night to come find him on a whim?

The elevator ascended one final floor and dinged gently to announce her arrival. She stared at her pale face in the large mirror hanging on the opposite wall.

_What am I doing here? What if he's not even here?_

It was pure stubbornness that dragged her feet out of the elevator and to the left, to the lone door at the very end of the hallway. Every step electrified her nerves and brought her closer to the end – or perhaps the beginning – of a very surreal dream.

By the time she reached the door she was nearly light headed. Lisa knocked before her courage gave up and crawled away.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a long time.

She closed her eyes and sagged against the wall, overwhelmed with disappointment…

Then, she heard footsteps moving across the floor.

Tension—excitement—anxiety sparked across her skin.

The door opened just a crack, revealing a slice of dark hair and a pale blue eye.

_Jackson…_

His eyes narrowed, just enough to bring a shadow to his face. "Did anyone follow you?"

She stared at him. "Seriously?" She gestured to the deserted hallway. "Do you see anyone?"

His mouth tightened in displeasure, lips almost slipping into a familiar, hated sneer, but he somehow held it back. His eyes scanned the hallway behind her and returned to her face, expectant and dark.

Ten seconds passed in horrible, tense silence.

Finally, he breathed out a quiet sigh. He opened the door another few precious inches and had the grace to look a little sheepish. "It's habit. You understand."

The unexpected start to the conversation dashed any hope of sticking to her script. All of her carefully planned statements and arguments dissolved under the weight of his blue eyes.

"I... I didn't think you would be here." _But I hoped you would stay for me._

"I'm leaving the country next week."

"Were you planning on stopping by Miami first?" she asked softly.

His answer was immediate and painful. "No."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a good guy, Lisa. You knew that and you still fell in love with me."

She stepped back, indignant and a little embarrassed. "I'm not in love with you. I never said that."

"Then why are you here?"

A thousand answers crowded her mouth, but only one escaped when she spoke. "I want an apology."

"From me." His tone was flat and apathetic, and a mocking sneer curled into his lips.

"Yes, from you. You lied to me. In that apartment where Paloma died and we found Keefe and Davis... You ripped out my heart, Jackson." She blinked away the sudden burning rush of tears.

Jackson's eyes hardened. "I had to. It was the only way to fool Keefe's turncoat bodyguard."

"You lied to me, Jackson."

"I already explained why."

"You lied to me," she repeated.

"Look, the plan had to change. I still gave you what you wanted. Keefe is safe, your dad is fine, and my life has nothing more to do with yours. Isn't this what you wanted? Why aren't you satisfied?"

"You—lied—to—me."

He threw his eyes skyward and growled. "Yes, I lied to you."

"It sucked."

Lisa matched his stare, ignoring the cold façade and waiting intently, patiently, for warmth to surface. And finally, she saw it. All of the muscles in his face relaxed at the same time, forming a map of creases and wrinkles. She read the worry and doubt and frustration like they were landmarks on a map. And then she spotted what lurked in his slow blink and hesitantly parted lips. She saw hope, and her heart sang.

"I'm sorry."

She smiled, accepting his apology. It was a start. "Look Jackson, I might be scared of this... whatever this—us—is. But I'm not running away. I'd spend the rest of my life wondering... or regretting, or both. You're important to me."

"_Important to you,_" he snorted. "I took out an entire stairwell of Hastings' thugs to get to you in that parking garage. If that hasn't earned your undying gratitude, then I feel sorry for the next guy."

Absurdly enough, that broke the tension. She laughed, and even though she still sounded nervous, his smile became so big and genuine that it sparked a cozy, tingling glow across her entire body.

"So your dad actually let you out of his sight?"

A small smirk crept onto her lips. "He doesn't know I'm here. He also wanted me to tell you that you're fired."

Jackson blinked. "Fired."

"After you refused to take over, he shut down the entire Company. It was the last thing he did before he re-retired."

"Peachy," he muttered. "I needed a longer vacation."

They shared a deep, quiet look. "I haven't slept well since the last time you were here," he confided, softly touching her cheek.

He pulled the door open another inch. Lisa knew it was synonymous to flinging multiple types of doors wide open. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes..." she whispered. "Yes, I would."

:o:

:o:

:o:


End file.
